


dreams unwind, love's a state of mind

by hakyeonni



Series: little incubus [14]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Bath Sex, Double Penetration, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 01:05:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12332403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakyeonni/pseuds/hakyeonni
Summary: as hakyeon starts to lose the threads of who he is, he returns to a town from his past to try and heal—but for once, what taekwoon has done may well prove to undo him...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> boy oh boy oh boy do we have a little bit of everything for you in this one: angst, sadness, a threesome, platonic love, discourse about Swedish furniture, the beach... it's a doozy

“How is he?”

Hongbin seems so far away, even though he’s standing right next to Sanghyuk as they hover in the doorway of Hakyeon’s bedroom. It’s through no fault of his own. Everything seems so very far away from Sanghyuk these days, like he’s perceiving the world through some filter that makes him feel so completely disembodied it’s like he’s not even alive.

Sanghyuk sighs and shuts the door again, leaning against it heavily. “He’s grieving,” he whispers, and feels the heavy truth of the words.

Hakyeon hasn’t moved for forty-eight hours—Sanghyuk knows because he has been counting every minute like time is suddenly precious. Hakyeon doesn’t speak. He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t move, except to lie in his bed and shake, his eyes wide open but unseeing. The only thing that’s stopped Sanghyuk from being swept up in the wake of his grief is the thin barriers he has erected between his mind and Hakyeon’s, and those are only just holding, like a cracked dam buckling under the weight of thousands of tons of water. Things slip through every now and again—memories that Hakyeon is replaying over and over—and the breadth of how wretched he’s feeling leaves Sanghyuk breathless. Last time was better. Last time Hakyeon was empty. This is like he’s feeling all the sadness in the world at once, and it’s crushing. Sanghyuk doesn’t know how he is still alive.

(Maybe, in a way, he isn’t.)

“Oh,” Hongbin says, and Sanghyuk hears the sadness in his voice. “But… but he doesn’t know Jaehwan’s dead.”

Thanks to their connection Sanghyuk has seen, from Hakyeon’s eyes, how Jaehwan looked right after he’d finished healing Wonshik. Pale, haggard, mortal. For a being that’s meant to be even more immortal than they are—because these things can be quantified, apparently—it’s horrifying, and Sanghyuk understands where Hakyeon’s coming from. Jaehwan is no longer infallible. Taekwoon still is. There’s only one way that can end.

“I’m not so sure,” Sanghyuk replies, pushing himself off Hakyeon’s door and staggering down the hall. He can feel Hongbin at his back, a silent shadow, and resists the urge to shudder. “Can we get out of here? I can’t—I can’t be around him. Not like this.” When he turns, he lets Hongbin see the pain etched on his face, pain that’s not his and that he didn’t ask for, pain that he’s sure ages him. “Can we just get a movie and some popcorn and curl up on the sofa together and just, just exist? I need that right now.”

Hongbin’s expression softens, and he pulls Sanghyuk close, letting him lean on his chest. He doesn’t question, and he doesn’t protest, and Sanghyuk thanks whoever’s listening that they found each other. “Of course, love.” He drops a kiss on Sanghyuk’s temple. “Do you need anything, or should we just go?”

The last forty-eight hours have been a complete blur—after Jaehwan left and Hakyeon flew away, Hongbin and Wonshik left too, and Sanghyuk had driven himself crazy as he waited for Hakyeon to return. When he finally returned he’d flown, as a raven, into the glass of the balcony door and knocked himself unconscious, and any other time Sanghyuk would find that hilarious but he was too busy being scared to even try. He’d dragged Hakyeon inside and put him to bed, and that’s where they’d stayed. He hasn’t changed his clothes, and he knows he needs a shower, but he needs to get out of here more. “I have stuff at home,” he says, because this place is not home, not now. “Let’s just go.”

He lets Hongbin lead him out of the apartment and down to the carpark, clutching onto his hand and following in his wake because it’s easier.

//

“Now,” Hongbin says, standing in front of Sanghyuk with the bowl of popcorn in one hand and the remote in the other. “What are you in the mood for?”

The moment they’d got inside, Hongbin had dragged him to the shower and bathed him, washing his back and pressing kisses to his neck whenever he whined. He’d wrapped Sanghyuk up in a big fluffy towel and picked him up to take him to the bedroom to dress him, before leading him into the living room and depositing him gently on the sofa, wrapping a blanket around him and tucking him in. As Sanghyuk watched, he’d dug the microwave popcorn out from the pantry and cooked it, wrinkling his nose the entire time. The only reason he can stand it now is because he isn’t breathing, but Sanghyuk knows it still bothers him.

“For you,” Sanghyuk replies truthfully, tucking his legs underneath him as Hongbin moves to sit down, reaching for a handful of popcorn (triple butter flavour explosion, of course, because he could bang on about hours about how normal microwave popcorn just isn’t salty enough. Hongbin’s heard that rant several times) and shoving it in his mouth.

“I meant the movie,” Hongbin grumbles, but he leans his head on Sanghyuk’s knee and watches him eat.

Even though Hongbin doesn’t get hungry, he still craves food sometimes, the same way he craves for his heart to beat once more, for the sun to fall on his skin. Sanghyuk can’t relate, but that’s ok. He and Hongbin have carved out a peaceful existence these last couple of months, one based on respect and understanding, so he lets Hongbin lie with his head on his chest to hear his heartbeat because it’s comforting, and Hongbin listens to him list off the things he misses about being human, and they both take simple pleasure in being different but similar in so many ways. “I know,” he laughs, and reaches out to caress Hongbin’s cheek. “Something romantic?”

“ _The Notebook_?” Hongbin flicks through titles on Netflix idly, waiting for Sanghyuk to say yes or no. “ _Legally Blonde_? _Easy A_? _Juno_? _10 Things I Hate About You_?”

“Ooh, put that one on,” Sanghyuk interrupts, snuggling even closer to Hongbin and taking another mouthful of popcorn. “I had the biggest crush on Heath Ledger when I was younger.”

Hongbin snorts, but he puts an arm around Sanghyuk anyway and pulls him closer as the movie starts. “Oh, so you have a thing for bad boys, eh? I’m as bad as they can get.”

“Shut up.”

Hongbin obliges, and not just because Sanghyuk elbows him as hard as he can (it’s about as effective as elbowing a brick wall, but that’s a lesson he still hasn’t learnt and probably never will), but because the movie starts for real and he’s instantly entranced. He’s used to them by now, of course—he uses Sanghyuk’s xbox more than _he_ does—but Sanghyuk thinks that maybe there will always be a part of him that lives in wonderment at moving pictures. Immortals are, of course, frozen in time, as he’s constantly reminded. Vampires even more so. As much as Hongbin has adapted, there are so many things about him that are old fashioned, and Sanghyuk loves those quirks just as much as the rest of him.

They’re halfway through the movie, the popcorn mostly finished and forgotten on the ground, and Sanghyuk is in the middle of drifting off into sleep—he needs this, more than he thought he did; he hasn’t felt this content and relaxed in what seems like years—when he feels it.

Panic.

“Oh, god,” he barks, sitting upright and clutching his chest. Hongbin is instantly switched on, his eyes glowing and his fangs out, but Sanghyuk swats him away. “Shit—”

The panic fades almost instantly and Sanghyuk takes a big breath out. It’s Hakyeon, of course; he must have had a nightmare or something. His heart is still racing, though, setting the both of them on edge, and Sanghyuk hopes Hakyeon can feel his hatred from all the way across the other side of the city. He can’t have _one_ nice thing. It’s always ruined. “It’s Hakyeon,” he manages to get out, taking another deep breath in and out and trying to relax. He just needs to remind himself that these emotions are _not_ his own, and rebuild the wall, and he’ll be fine.

Except the profound agony that had been ripping through Hakyeon is gone. He doesn’t want to probe further in case he finds it lurking beneath the surface, but he turns to Hongbin and shakes his head. “He’s… awake. I mean, properly. Back in the land of the living.” He looks at where his fingers are clutched in the blanket and makes himself relax. “I don’t know what he’s doing.”

“Leave him.” Hongbin’s voice is gentle as he brushes Sanghyuk’s hair away from his forehead, damp with sweat. “If he needs you, he’ll call you. He needs space to work this out. You need space away from him. You cannot set yourself on fire to keep him warm.”

“I know,” Sanghyuk replies grimly, and slams shut the walls between him and Hakyeon once more.

He settles back down and they start the movie again, but even though he’s surrounded by nothing but Hongbin—nothing but the cool hardness of his body, his clean, familiar scent—he can’t shake the sharp memory of Hakyeon’s panic, blinding and overwhelming, and how scared he had been waking up all alone.

//

Hakyeon wakes screaming Jaehwan’s name.

It had been a nightmare, he supposes, although a nightmare that could easily have been based in reality. Taekwoon with his sword, Jaehwan with his; Taekwoon had parried Jaehwan’s swipe easily and Jaehwan, sluggishly, had left his chest exposed. With no words of warning and no preamble Taekwoon had driven his sword through Jaehwan’s chest up to the hilt, hissing—a noise of vengeance, of victory, a noise that made Hakyeon soundlessly scream. Is that what Sanghyuk looked like? Wonshik? Is this Taekwoon’s legacy?

“Sanghyuk?” he gasps into the emptiness of the apartment, somewhat pointlessly since he knows he is alone. “Where are you?”

All he gets through the bond is a wave of hatred so strong it leaves him breathless all over again, and then—nothing. They have both been practicing putting up walls between them, because they both feel things very strongly, and their respective emotions sometimes threaten to take over the other. Never before, though, has it felt so cold, and left Hakyeon feeling so completely destitute. The last thing he needs right now is to be alone. He needs Sanghyuk, needs the feeling of his body, warm against his own. No, he needs Jaehwan—he’s always needed Jaehwan. But Jaehwan is dead and if he isn’t dead he will be soon, and if he lingers on that thought he will cry, so he stands up.

 _Need to feed_ , he thinks, not because he’s hungry but because he’s restless and he knows burying himself in warm body after warm body will sate some need. Or at least it should. He’s so twitchy that he doesn’t even know if he can be fixed, not after this. Wonshik has gone too far this time. He has gone too far. His fault. His fault. _His fault._

//

He ends up in the first club he sees when he gets off the subway on the other side of the river. It’s too loud and the drinks are overpriced but he slams them back somewhat desperately, the buzz in his blood building with the proximity of mortals, loose and drunk and thrumming with life energy. When he’s sufficiently tipsy he moves to the floor and dances, but it’s hollow. He is just going through the motions, unable to summon even the slightest bit of emotion to fuel him—if he does that he’ll open the floodgates, and he doesn’t want to break down crying here, so far from home. Instead he waits for a girl to approach him and tangles his fingers in her hair, trying to bring himself back down to earth. When she kisses him her mouth tastes sweet and saccharine, and Hakyeon wishes he cared.

They end up at a motel nearby; he doesn’t even know her name. It doesn’t matter. When she comes he feeds from her energy and doesn’t bother to stop himself where he usually would—but even this isn’t right. Normally the only thing better than an orgasm is the feeling of a mortal’s life energy wreathing him, feeding his soul, fueling his immortality and making him truly alive. But as sweet and lovely as this girl’s energy is, he just feels hollow inside, so hauntingly hollow. Nothing will taste as sweet as Jaehwan again. He can’t get that thought of his head as he sinks into her, making her cry out over and over again with pleasure, begging for more. He’s so detached from her even as his body goes through the movements. She isn’t Jaehwan. She doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. None of this matters. He doesn’t, clearly. The only thing that matters is Taekwoon and his retribution, and in the face of that, they are all reduced to insignificance.

“What’s your name?” she asks afterwards, sitting up and running a hand through her hair before reaching to touch him.

He doesn’t hide the way his eyes glow yellow. He does not care. “Jaehwan,” he says bitterly, and rolls away from her touch.

//

At first, Sanghyuk’s not really sure what’s woken him. He and Hongbin must have fallen asleep on the sofa, he realises groggily; he’s hanging half-off, Hongbin heavy on his back, one arm wrapped protectively around his waist. The dim light from the TV is streaming over them both, and he can see the faintest tinges of dawn in the sky outside. He’ll have to wake Hongbin soon, although he somehow knows if he’s fallen asleep somewhere unsafe and will usually rouse himself to retreat to the safety of Sanghyuk’s bedrooms, long-since vampire-proofed. He nearly rolls over and goes back to sleep, but he feels a twinge in his chest the same time he hears the scratch of keys at his door. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and sits up.

The feeling in his chest is skittishness, and there’s only one person that would be letting themselves in at this time of night, the only other person who has a key—Hakyeon. Sure enough the door bursts open dramatically and he stands there for a moment, cocking his head at Sanghyuk who just glares back balefully (even if a tiny part of him is glad to see Hakyeon back on his feet again). “What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Hakyeon mocks, slamming the door behind him. Hongbin wakes with a start at that, but Hakyeon doesn’t even spare a glance his way. “Thanks for coming to check on me.”

Not only is he not acting himself—he’s never aggressive to Sanghyuk, not counting the past few days—as he approaches them on the sofa Sanghyuk can tell his hands are shaking uncontrollably. “I’m not your keeper,” he replies evenly, narrowing his eyes.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Hakyeon is twitchy, glancing back and forth like Sanghyuk’s hiding Taekwoon himself in his bedroom, but he reaches out and pats Sanghyuk on the head anyway. The touch relaxes them both—Sanghyuk feels not only his own but also Hakyeon’s tension drain away just a tiny bit—but he’s still pissed. “Do you think I’m not aware of the consequences of my actions? Because I am, oh, I am. Don’t you worry. I’m very well aware of that. Because I have to live with them for the rest of my life.”

“What’s wrong with you?” That’s Hongbin from behind Sanghyuk, sounding very small and worried. “Should I call Wons—”

Sanghyuk shrinks back the moment the first syllable of Wonshik’s name is out of his mouth, and Hakyeon goes very, very still. “That won’t be necessary,” Hakyeon says, and then flinches at absolutely nothing. “Wonshik and I aren’t on speaking terms at the moment. Isn’t that funny? I owe everything I am to him and he took it all from me.”

In another universe, in different circumstances, this would be funny. As it is, it’s just fucking terrifying. Hakyeon is acting like he’s taken drugs—it’s pretty common in the escorting world, so Sanghyuk is no stranger to twitchy people with wide-blown pupils—but Sanghyuk can’t sense any in his system. He is a product of his own grief, and it’s hideously heartbreaking. He doesn’t even want to think of what he’d be like if he lost Hongbin, but he’d like to think he would still be sane. At this point it seems like Hakyeon is losing himself completely. “Hyung,” he whines, taking Hakyeon’s hand and stroking his thumb across his knuckles. He sees the change in Hakyeon’s body language almost immediately; his shoulders drop and some of the tension in his body drains away. “You need to rest.”

“No,” Hakyeon snarls, and breaks free of the touch. He starts pacing back and forth on the carpet in front of them, shudders rolling through his body. “I can’t—I can’t stay still. Staying still is worse. At least if I move, I… feel better.” He looks at the two of them, but his eyes are blank and unseeing. “Feeding helps. Energy... helps. Even if it’s not him.”

The last thing Hakyeon needs right now is to feed—he’s so full he could probably last a month or two without energy—but Sanghyuk is too tired to argue. He lets himself relax back into Hongbin and bites his lip, because he needs something to distract himself from the tears that threaten to overwhelm him. “I love you,” he whispers, knowing it’s not enough.

Hakyeon stills—Sanghyuk can tell the effort it takes for him to do that—to look at them both and smile sadly. “You shouldn’t have died for us,” he whispers with empty eyes, and turns to go. “I’m sorry.”

The moment the door closes behind him Sanghyuk bursts into tears. Hongbin just picks him up and takes him into the bedroom and lets Sanghyuk cry a lifetime’s worth of tears into his chest, stroking his back and whispering sweet nothings to him, giving him the comfort he so desperately craves. The worst part, though, is not how scared he is of losing Hakyeon entirely, or how anguished he feels; no, the worst part is that Hakyeon’s insanity hovers at the edge of his own consciousness, making him feel like he’s going mad too.

“He’s not you,” Hongbin whispers when the tears have stopped. It’s well past dawn, and he sounds sleepy, but he’s somehow still awake. “You have to remember that. What you’re feeling… It’s not you.”

Sanghyuk doesn’t reply.

//

Hakyeon loses himself.

It’s easy to do, really. If he gives himself over to the emotions waiting in the wings, he will break. He knows that. He will shatter entirely—because he’s convinced himself that Jaehwan is dead, he _must_ be, he can’t have survived—and he knows nothing will ever be able to fix that, not even the love the others have for him. He feels that, sometimes, through the bond; Sanghyuk misses him and Sanghyuk loves him, and when he feels it he buries himself in someone else as a distraction. Emotions hurt.

“Fuck,” the woman groans from behind him, stretching (he’s only been feeding off women. He can’t handle men). He hears her joints pop. “That was great, sugar.”

What kind of person calls their one night stand ‘sugar’? He stands up and reaches for his jeans, not even looking at her. Callous? Perhaps. But his skin is starting to itch again, and he needs to get outside and into the fresh air before his head starts to feel like it’s going to explode, which is what happens if he spends too much time indoors. How long has it been since he saw Sanghyuk last—a few days? No longer than a week. They haven’t come looking for him. “Yeah, same,” he mutters, not bothering to make it sound genuine.

He used to care about his lovers. He used to make them want to feel nice, used to leave them with a smile on their face. Now he doesn’t give a shit.

As he’s pulling his shirt over his head he hears the telltale click of a lighter, and when he looks back over his shoulder the woman is lighting up a joint, the sheet pulled up to cover her, eyes narrowed as she inhales. Hakyeon has a flash of Jaehwan—he used to sit like that in bed, with the sheet covering his nipples, and Hakyeon used to tease him endlessly about it (“I get cold!” he would protest, and Hakyeon would howl with laughter)—and shakes his head to free it. “Can I…”

The woman holds out the joint so he leans down and plucks it from her fingers, taking a big hit and closing his eyes. This helps, but he’ll burn through it fast. Immortal metabolism.

“What are you running from?”

“What?” He opens his eyes again and looks at her, takes another hit. Takes her energy, takes her weed. Doesn’t matter.

“What are you running from, sugar?” She comes up onto her knees and regards him evenly. Her gaze is unflinching, unafraid, and when she touches him on the face he doesn’t resist. “You’ve got some serious demons you’re fighting.”

He reaches out and brushes a lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear before placing the joint back between her lips. “Angels, actually,” he replies, and kisses her forehead before turning to go.

The hits from the joint start wearing off when he’s in the lift back up to the eleventh floor. He’d rented a suite at a hotel in the middle of town, because he can’t stand being back in his apartment—he spends half the time there reliving memories of him and Jaehwan, and half the time praying to whoever is listening that he’ll walk through the door and sweep Hakyeon up in his arms. A very, very small part of him knows he is overreacting—there’s been no confirmation that Jaehwan is dead, after all. But there’s been nothing but silence, and Hakyeon knows that he’d do his damned best to get a message out if he was alive and well. So either he’s horribly injured and at Taekwoon’s mercy, or dead, and Hakyeon has no idea which outcome he’d prefer. The hotel serves as a respite from all of that, and it’s helping to keep him together. Little things.

He lets himself into his room—it takes him three times to swipe the card correctly because his hands are shaking again—and rips off his shirt, heading straight to the bed. Order room service, eat, sleep. Wake up and do it all again. He’s never been this full of energy before, and it’s kind of mesmerising; right now he feels like he could shapeshift into anything and hold it forever, like he’s a God, like he could take on Taekwoon and win. Ha. If only.

The knock on the door comes twenty minutes later, and he’s too busy focusing on the food he’s about to eat—yet another distraction—that he doesn’t register the signature at the door until it’s too late and he’s pulling it open. Then Wonshik is there, forcing himself inside, pushing him back up against the wardrobe with a forearm across his throat like he’d expected Hakyeon to leap for him with claws drawn. He doesn’t even get a chance to shift. He’s pinned, and the sensation should be threatening, but it’s Wonshik so it’s just oddly comforting. _He caused this_ , his brain screams at him as Wonshik’s red eyes widen. _You caused this, you made that choice_ , another voice screams. Aren’t they all innocent in the grand scheme of things? He starts laughing, and that really freaks Wonshik out.

“Christ, they weren’t lying.” He drops Hakyeon and takes a step back. The expression on his face is one Hakyeon recognises as horror, but he’s too busy laughing to really register it properly. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hakyeon gets out around bursts of laughter. “My lover died so you could live. I think that’s—” here he breaks off into giggles again, unable to help himself, “hilarious.”

Hakyeon knows the limits of Wonshik’s temper intimately; he knows how far to push before he snaps, and when he was younger it used to be a fun game to play whenever he was bored. What he just said should not have even come close to Wonshik’s limits, but then Wonshik roars and tackles him around the waist. They fall to the floor and Hakyeon smacks and scratches and spits like a caged animal, but Wonshik is strong—even when Hakyeon shifts and kicks him across the room he just comes back again without missing a beat—and soon has him pinned. “You’ve lost your fucking mind,” he snarls, and slaps Hakyeon clean across the face.

The pain centers him for a moment, and he gasps. Everything is suddenly so very clear. “Wonshik,” he murmurs, and the hurt on Wonshik’s face sinks in. “Oh, god.”

“What is wrong with you? Sanghyuk and Hongbin are turning themselves inside out worrying about you. All they could tell me is you were acting like you’re, you’re on drugs or something!” His nostrils flare and he must smell the last remnants of weed on Hakyeon’s breath. “Is that what you’re doing? Drowning yourself in substances and sex so you don’t have to be an adult? I’ve got news for you, Hakyeon—”

“Wonshik—please—”

“You’re immortal.” Wonshik brings their faces very close together, not seeming to notice or care that Hakyeon’s crying openly now. This is why he didn’t want to feel anything. It _hurts_. “People die. You’ve been dealing with this for centuries.”

“Not him!” Hakyeon sobs, and goes entirely limp. “He’s not like us. He was never meant to die.”

At this Wonshik releases him and yanks him forward into a hug. He’s not a very touchy-feely person, but he doesn’t seem to mind as Hakyeon clings onto him and cries helplessly, feeling like he’s a newborn again. “You don’t even know he’s dead,” Wonshik whispers, stroking his hair gently. “He could still be alive. Taekwoon is clever, but Jaehwan is more than a match for him.”

Wonshik is, of course, right, but Hakyeon always jumps to the worst of conclusions and in his mind there is simply no way Jaehwan could have survived. He’d been so weak he hadn’t even been able to stand up properly. How could he hold out against Taekwoon’s might? None of them have been able to so far. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out around sobs, his fingers twisting in the fabric of Wonshik’s shirt. At least he has Wonshik. He really would die if he lost him as well. “I’m so sorry. It hurts.”

“I know,” Wonshik replies. He stands up with Hakyeon still wrapped around him and moves to the bed, so Hakyeon’s in his lap, still clutching onto him desperately. He cries and cries and cries all the tears he’s been holding back since Jaehwan blinked away, and Wonshik doesn’t let him go the whole time.

//

For the first time in a week, Hakyeon doesn’t wake screaming Jaehwan’s name. Instead he wakes with Wonshik embracing him from behind, his face nuzzled into the nape of Hakyeon’s neck, and for a moment he forgets and relaxes totally. How uncharacteristic of Wonshik to cling to him like this—when they’ve shared beds in the past, he always dislikes when Hakyeon cuddles up to him. But this? This is soft, comforting, and he wonders why right up until he feels Wonshik stir and he remembers.

It hurts. God, it hurts. The not knowing hurts nearly as much as convincing himself Jaehwan is dead—at least if he knew he would have closure. But like this his future is hanging in the balance, _their_ future is hanging in the balance, and it’s excruciating in the worst way.

“Hakyeon?” Wonshik murmurs. It’s still nighttime so he wakes up quickly, rolling away from Hakyeon and putting distance between them. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Hakyeon replies, sitting up and pushing his hair back off his face. He’s not alright, but he’s not twitching and shaking, either, so it’s a start. He turns to take a proper look at Wonshik and sighs, unable to stop himself from reaching out and touching his face, a caress. “I’m so sorry.”

Wonshik smiles, but it’s a hollow smile if Hakyeon’s ever seen one. “I know,” he replies, and takes Hakyeon’s hand in his own. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry about this whole situation. What a mess.”

How they’ve lasted this long without any major spats with other true immortals—save for that incident with the demon in Germany, before Hongbin, but that was over fast—Hakyeon’s not sure, but all of a sudden he wishes for those days. It’s not that he wishes he never met Jaehwan, because Jaehwan has chased away the jadedness lingering on his soul and breathed life into him anew, but moreso that he wishes they could have met under different circumstances. But then, Jaehwan didn’t ask to be born, and he didn’t ask to be made. They are simply products of circumstance, and there is nothing either of them can do about it. “Yeah,” he replies eventually, closing his eyes and swallowing.

“Are you going to go insane again?” Wonshik’s voice is gentle, but the words make Hakyeon flinch. “Do I have to get a straitjacket?”

This last part Hakyeon recognises as Wonshik’s attempt at humour—he’s not very good at it—and he smiles, weakly. “I think I’m alright for now. I just—I just can’t think about him too much. Then I start feeling like I’m… losing my grip on everything.”

“Okay. Then we won’t talk about him. But…” Wonshik folds his arms over his chest and chews his lip, a sign he’s not sure what he’s about to say is the correct thing. “Hakyeon, we need to do something. We can’t just have you losing your mind every few days. Maybe you need therapy.” When Hakyeon turns to look at him, he puts his hands out like he’s placating a flighty animal. “It was just a suggestion.”

“You want _me_ to see a therapist,” Hakyeon deadpans. “And how would I even begin explaining that? ‘Oh, yes, hello, I’m an incubus and I’m nearly four hundred years old, yes, I lived through the Industrial Revolution, anyway, I fell in love with a nephilim, that’s a half-angel, you see, and because he’s a half-angel we have an angel hunting us, an angel that’s—’”

“Alright! Alright, I’m just trying to help,” Wonshik interrupts, seeing how worked up Hakyeon is getting. “I refuse to sit idly by and watch as you lose yourself to heartbreak and grief. You’re stronger than that.” He pauses. “Songi is stronger than that.”

Hakyeon’s patience snaps and he stands up and stalks over to the balcony door, flinging open the blinds and pressing himself to the glass. His skin is beginning to itch, the roaring in his head has begun, and he knows he doesn’t have long before he’ll have to leave to feed or drink or get high, do _anything_ to stop the pain from creeping in again. “Songi’s dead,” he snaps, although whether that’s true or not, he has no idea. “And I don’t fucking care if I die.”

“Don’t you _dare_ say that!” Wonshik roars. He’s standing up too, his hands curled into fists, and something primal in Hakyeon stirs. Let him come. Let them fight. He needs it. “I won’t let you die. Not after all we’ve gone through together. Not after what you did for me. I will _not_ let you throw your life away.”

His voice cracks on the last syllable, and Hakyeon’s vision swims. He can’t even tell what is right and what is wrong anymore, only that this _hurts_ and he wants to leave, but it’s Wonshik. It’s always Wonshik, and it will always be Wonshik, and their bond runs deeper than blood. “Hyung,” he whispers, turning from the window and slumping so his back is against it. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

When Wonshik approaches he doesn’t fight it and lets Wonshik hug him. The weight of his body against Hakyeon’s own is comforting, and it helps to chase away the last dregs of insanity that remain. “I don’t know either,” Wonshik confesses, which shouldn’t be reassuring but somehow is. “But I know you aren’t alone, as much as you like to tell yourself you are. You have Hongbin and Sanghyuk and I.”

“I think I need to leave,” he whispers into Wonshik’s hair, his eyes squeezed shut. “Not for forever. But this city is haunting me. Everywhere I look I see… him. Can we go?”

“Of course. Where do you want to go?” replies Wonshik without even a moment’s hesitation, and Hakyeon slumps in his arms.

It’s been so long since they’ve travelled—since before Hongbin was with them. That had been Europe, and they’d fled war, not wanting to get caught up in a continent ravaged. But then Wonshik had made Hongbin and they’d had a reason to stay, and leaving hadn’t even crossed their minds. He doesn’t want to go far, though. “The beach?” he asks, his words curling up at the ends, hopeful, pregnant. He hasn’t been to the beach in years. He hasn’t even been out of Seoul in a century, he realises with a jolt of surprise.

Wonshik smiles, and he’s no doubt thinking of all those times Hakyeon would find some beach for them to visit on his travels. “I think that’s a good idea,” he whispers, and Hakyeon opens his eyes, takes a deep breath in, and tastes hope for the first time in what feels like forever.


	2. Chapter 2

“You want me to what?”

Hongbin’s whispering into the phone, but it’s not quiet enough, and Sanghyuk wakes up and rolls over. He’s sitting up in bed—the sun has just gone down a few minutes ago; Sanghyuk can feel it—with his phone clutched to his ear, and when he makes eye contact with Sanghyuk he rolls his eyes dramatically. “Wonshik?” Sanghyuk whispers, and Hongbin nods.

“Hang on, are you serious? Can Sanghyuk come?” Sanghyuk hears Wonshik’s mumbled reply, and Hongbin starts grinning widely. Even in the low light Sanghyuk can see his fangs are out a little bit. “Fantastic. I’ll see you just after sunset.” He hangs up and turns to Sanghyuk, still grinning maniacally.

“What was that?” Sanghyuk’s voice is gravelly after sleep, and he’s perfectly aware that he has morning breath and his eyes are probably puffy, but Hongbin swoops down and kisses him anyway. “Hongbin, get off!”

“Sorry,” Hongbin says, but Sanghyuk can tell he isn’t genuine in the slightest. “Guess what we get to do?”

Sanghyuk’s first guess is _hang, draw and quarter Hakyeon hyung_ , but he doesn’t say that out loud. Last he’d known Wonshik was going to find Hakyeon—Sanghyuk had offered to try and hone in on his location through the bond, but Wonshik had just rolled his eyes and said he didn’t need a bond to find Hakyeon, he’s been doing it for four hundred years—to try and talk some sense into him. Sanghyuk hoped it would work, but he believed it wouldn’t. He’s never felt Hakyeon so unhinged before, and it’s been nearly impossible to keep his mania from creeping in. Sanghyuk has spent most of the past week at home in his apartment with Hongbin, trying to be normal and failing utterly. He hadn’t seen clients; how could he, when Hakyeon’s emotions might bleed through any moment, sending him into a spiral of twitching and shaking?

“No idea,” he mutters eventually, running a hand through Hongbin’s hair, which is like a bird’s nest; it tends to default back to that after he sleeps, and it’s terribly endearing.

Hongbin practically purrs at the sensation, arching into Sanghyuk’s hand. “Wonshik hyung got through to Hakyeon,” he whispers in contentment, which makes Sanghyuk sit bolt upright, so fast only Hongbin’s vampire reflexes save him from getting clipped by a shoulder. “He’s not himself, but he’s lucid enough to know he needs to get out of here.”

“What, forever?”

“Just temporarily. He said the city reminds him of Jaehwan too much. I can understand that.”

Sanghyuk, who had been in the middle of sliding off the bed, stops and looks over his shoulder. “You can?”

Hongbin shrugs. “Yeah. If I lost you, God forbid, I wouldn’t be able to stay here. Everything we’ve done together would be tainting this whole city. I would see ghosts of you everywhere I went.”

That makes Sanghyuk pause, surprised. Hongbin has always been the more compassionate one—Sanghyuk’s patience wears thin faster than his, and he has a much lower tolerance for bullshit. That, combined with the fact that he has Hakyeon’s consciousness pressing at his mind, _screaming_ at him sometimes, has made him entirely fed-up with the situation. But what Hongbin has just said puts it in context. If he’d lost the love of his life, he’s not sure he’d be sane, either. He’s not sure he’d be able to cope being choked with reminders of him everywhere he turned. Maybe it would break him, too. Maybe he should be more sympathetic.

“Fair enough,” he says eventually, getting to his feet and pulling his shirt over his head. “Anyway, you never finished. What do we get to do?”

He meets Hongbin’s eyes through the mirror—his are glinting mischievously, and he’s grinning. “Hakyeon hyung always used to tell me how you wanted to abuse your shapeshifting powers to commit petty crimes. Now’s your opportunity. We’ve been put in charge of procuring the vehicle for the road trip.” He grimaces. “Well, a road trip makes it sound like something fun. I don’t expect it will be a very fun undertaking.”

“Anything with you is fun,” Sanghyuk says, bounding back over to the bed and sliding his arms around Hongbin’s neck, sitting on his lap. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week. Finally, an upside to this shapeshifting.”

He’s being facetious. He abuses his shapeshifting perk even more than Hakyeon does, and it’s become almost automatic now; his hair is never out of place, because he’s always shifting his flyaways away, for example. He never has even a _hint_ of stubble—in fact, it’s sort of like he doesn’t even grow hair at all. He changes clothes without even thinking about it sometimes, and more than once Hongbin has come home and yelped in shock when he’s seen Sanghyuk sporting a new hairstyle or colour. He _also_ knows that Hongbin is jealous of it, although Sanghyuk knows that the older man has strength and speed beyond anything he could even hope for. He’s not sure if the scales level out, in the end—after all, his heart is still beating and he can see the sun—but it’s not a competition and below some surface-level jealousy and teasing, Hongbin doesn’t care all that much.

“Yeah? I thought an upside to your shapeshifting was that you could do a split on my di—”

Hongbin is saying that to deliberately wind Sanghyuk up, so instead of rising to the bait—he could split on a dick long before he was ever turned—he kisses Hongbin to shut him up. It works, to absolutely no one’s surprise. They are completely weak for each other. Hongbin’s hands slide up to cup his ass and he whines and breaks away, giggling when Hongbin finds the spot on his back where he’s ticklish. “Don’t,” he whines, drawing out the syllables deliberately. “Hongbin! I have to shower. And we have to, what was it, ‘procure a vehicle’.”

“Steal some shit, as you’d say,” Hongbin growls, trailing his lips down Sanghyuk’s neck, pressing his tongue against the lazy beat of his pulse.

He’s being intentionally crude because he knows it twists something, low in Sanghyuk’s gut, to hear him with his upper-class accent and normally expansive, posh vocabulary speaking more common—and it’s working, much to Sanghyuk’s mild dismay. He’d wanted to shower and brush his teeth, but Hongbin has other ideas. “Hongbin,” he gasps, tightening his hands in Hongbin’s hair. It’s not permission, not quite, so Hongbin doesn’t bite down. “We don’t have time…”

Quick as a snake Hongbin flips them on the bed so Sanghyuk is on his back, their bodies pressed together, and automatically Sanghyuk wraps his legs around Hongbin, pulling him even closer. “I can make you come in ten minutes flat,” Hongbin whispers, his eyes glinting. “We _do_ have time.”

It’s uncharacteristic of Hongbin to act like this—he’s gotten over his shy streak, for sure, but it normally takes time for him to warm up to being cheeky. This is new, and the newness has his heart racing in anticipation, something that he knows drives Hongbin wild. He doesn’t resist as Hongbin slides down the bed to nuzzle at the inside of his thigh, the place he likes drinking from the most (the blood tastes sweeter there, he likes to say, and Sanghyuk always chastises him for being gross). His fangs are out, and the gentle scrape of them over the sensitive skin there has Sanghyuk arching back on the bed automatically, his body already anticipating the sweetness of the bite. Perhaps that makes him an addict. It’s apparently not unheard of, in vampire circles; the glamour is so invigorating that repeat victims can begin to crave it. But here, with Hongbin’s breath hot on his thigh—oh, he does not care if he’s addicted. He just _wants_. “Hongbin, please,” he begs, tightening his legs. “Oh, please.”

“As you wish,” Hongbin mumbles, and sinks his fangs in.

//

“Hakyeon, wake up,” Jaehwan mutters.

Hakyeon shrugs off his touch. Jaehwan’s always been an early riser, and considering Hakyeon prefers to keep to a vampiric sleeping schedule, it often results in scenes like this—Jaehwan draped over Hakyeon, muttering in his ear, imploring him to get up. Except Jaehwan’s never usually this cold, and when Hakyeon rolls over and pulls him closer, he doesn’t have his wings out, either. “What…” he mutters, and cracks one eye open.

It’s not dawn, and it’s not Jaehwan in bed with him—it’s Wonshik, who’s currently looking at him like he’s just grown another head. Hakyeon has pulled him close into an embrace and they’re centimeters away from kissing. The hurt rocks through him as he drops Wonshik and scrambles away, his eyes snapping open properly. Of course. Jaehwan’s missing, possibly (probably) dead, and Wonshik’s the one telling him to get up. “What’s wrong?”

After a pause, Wonshik replies, regarding Hakyeon like he’s trying to figure something out. “There’s no problem. It’s time to go.”

For a moment he just sits there. Time to go? Time go _where?_ But then he remembers their conversation yesterday. He also remembers—although just barely; he must have been half-asleep—hearing Wonshik on the phone, presumably to Hongbin, asking him to get a car for their journey, something that was light-proof just in case they had to drive during the day. Hongbin and Sanghyuk must have arrived. It’s time for him to leave the city.

He doesn’t even have a bag, he realises belatedly as they make their way downstairs. Oh well. It’s not like it matters; he can shift clothes on as he needs to, and he can pick up a toothbrush and deodorant on the way. “Was it really such a good idea to ask those two to get the car?” he asks as they head out through the revolving door, spilling onto the footpath outside. The night is balmy and warm, and he looks up at the moon reproachfully.

“What do you mean? Surely they can’t get into too much trouble—” Wonshik starts, cutting himself off when he lays eyes on what’s waiting out the front for them, parked proudly in the valet parking section of the carpark. “What the fuck is that?”

“Told you so,” Hakyeon mutters, a dry smile twisting the corners of his lips up as Hongbin spots them and hops out of the offending vehicle, waving gaily.

“Hyung!” he shouts, grinning and gesturing like he’s _proud_. “Do you like what we got?”

It’s a fucking police van. Of all the things they could have picked—they could have _bought_ something, for God’s sake; Hongbin has a credit card attached to Wonshik’s account and lord knows Sanghyuk is rolling in cash—they decided to go with what is quite possibly the most conspicuous vehicle in the world. Hakyeon fixes Sanghyuk with a stare as he slides out of the driver’s seat, his smile rather sheepish. “I always told you I wanted to shift into a cop,” he says, sidling up to Hakyeon. They can both feel his nervousness. “And we light proofed it, look!”

Their idea of light proofing is a line of thick black duct tape all around the panels of the van, effectively rendering the back doors useless. “And how are we going to get in the back, hm? You’ve taped the doors shut.”

The look on Sanghyuk’s face makes it clear he did not think of that, and a silence falls across their little group as they consider the issue. It’s all so absurd, and so, so perfectly Sanghyuk that Hakyeon can feel his spirits lift, even as he knows he should be chastising Sanghyuk for committing grand theft auto. This little slice of normality has him biting back a smile as Hongbin actually scratches his head before he brightens like an idea has just struck him. “We can just peel the tape off and have someone patch it back up. It will be fine.”

“You may be willing to risk your life on some tape,” Wonshik starts, going to grab Hongbin but missing, “but I’m not. We’ll have to stop if the sun comes up. Now get in the van.”

Hongbin does as he’s told, a blush rising on his cheeks as Wonshik starts telling him, in very detailed terms, why he shouldn’t have done what he did. Hakyeon moves to follow them but is stopped by Sanghyuk grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. “Hyung,” he whispers, and he sounds very small indeed—absurd, since he’s nearly towering over Hakyeon and has been for years. “I’m glad you’re… back. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more. Having you in my head was too much… But we, Hongbin and I, we were worrying ourselves sick.”

Hakyeon cups Sanghyuk’s cheek and traces his thumb across the full line of his lower lip. Almost on instinct Sanghyuk opens his mouth, and Hakyeon could laugh. He and Wonshik have a bond deeper than blood stretching back centuries, and he loves Jaehwan with every fiber of his being, but there is nothing more simple and instinctive as the bond between maker and child. He gives and Sanghyuk takes; he teaches and Sanghyuk learns. It’s how their kind has been doing things since the beginning of time, and he thanks every god he knows that the universe saw fit to bring them together. “I love you,” he says, and he means it with all his heart. “So much, Sanghyuk. I’m so sorry for putting you through all the shit I’ve been feeling. I hope it’ll all be over soon and we can move on.”

Sanghyuk kisses him then, pulling him closer in an embrace that soothes Hakyeon’s soul in a way he didn’t realise he needed but should’ve. “I love you more,” he whispers, and rests their foreheads together.

“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for stealing a fucking police van, though,” Hakyeon replies almost dreamily, kissing Sanghyuk’s nose and turning away.

//

His good mood doesn’t last as they leave the city, Hongbin at the wheel (he and Sanghyuk had squabbled over who would drive, and Wonshik had silenced them with a look and said they could take it in turns) and Wonshik giving directions from the front seat. The benches in the back of the van are hideously uncomfortable so Hakyeon keeps shifting around, wishing he had a window to stare out of so he could see his home disappearing behind him. He knows that Jaehwan is still there—be he alive or dead—and so leaving hurts more than he thought it would, even though with every minute that passes Hakyeon feels the last of his mania draining away, leaving him empty instead. Sanghyuk is opposite him, his head buried in his phone, although after about an hour he sits next to Hakyeon and promptly falls asleep in his lap.

Hakyeon’s halfway to doing the same thing—he’s been doing too much sleeping lately, but just like with everything else, he doesn’t care—when the little metal window separating the back of the van from the driver’s compartment slides open to reveal Wonshik’s face, eyebrow raised. “How is it back there?”

“It’s fucking miserable,” Hakyeon replies bitterly, and Sanghyuk twitches in his sleep.

Wonshik seems to know that he’s referring both to the general comfort of the van and his overall mood because he just nods. “I’m taking us to your favourite seaside town. Remember when we visited in 1820, just before we left for Europe?” At Hakyeon’s continued blank look, he sighs and rolls his eyes. “You had an orgy with the household staff.”

That brings a ghost of a smile to Hakyeon’s face as he dredges up the memory from where it was buried—he’d been so young then, just two centuries old, and had gone through a phase where he was obsessed with group sex. Seducing a whole household of staff, men and women alike, had been a crowning achievement. Wonshik had not been amused. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Great. Well, I got online,” here Wonshik pauses and looks suitably embarrassed that he would stoop that low; he _hates_ the internet and only has a phone because Hongbin had insisted, “and looked up a beach house. I got Hongbin to ring up and book it.”

“For how long?”

“A month. I thought that would be long enough for you to sort through your issues.” This he says with only the faintest air of sarcasm. “If not, we can always go somewhere else.”

Even if he is being typical Wonshik about it—practical, with a slight edge of annoyance at his routine being disrupted—Hakyeon really is grateful. Lord knows they all need a holiday, but he hadn’t quite expected the rest of them to go to such lengths as this, considering how poorly he’s been treating them recently. He still has a lot of apologies to make to Sanghyuk and a long conversation to have with Wonshik.

But all of that can wait, and as Wonshik shuts the metal door again, Hakyeon rests his head on the wall and closes his eyes and tries to think of absolutely nothing at all. It doesn’t work, of course, because the heavy weight of Sanghyuk in his lap just reminds him of Jaehwan, of Jaehwan’s sacrifice, of Taekwoon, and of the fight they’re leaving behind.

//

The sudden absence of Sanghyuk in his lap is what wakes Hakyeon—he startles awake and shakes his head, reaching for the comforting presence before he’s even really alert. “Where…” he starts groggily, before cutting himself off as he realises the back doors of the van are open. He can smell the salt on the warm air, can distantly hear waves, and remembers. “Oh.”

“We’re here!” That’s Hongbin, peering in at him, his excitement palpable. For one moment Hakyeon has a flash of what Hongbin would have been like as a child—smaller, the dimples just as prominent, _human_. He hasn’t changed all that much, despite dying. “Hyung?” he prompts gently again, sensing Hakyeon is lost in his head.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hakyeon mutters, and hops out of the back of the van.

They’ve pulled up in the driveway of what he assumes is the beach house—except it’s not at all like he was picturing in his head. He thought it would be a house in the style of the sort he and Wonshik grew up in; instead it’s a Western-style house, enormous and sprawling.

“This is a beach _mansion_ ,” Sanghyuk is saying incredulously as they stand on the gravel and stare. He has bags at his feet—five of them; someone must have packed one for Hakyeon—and his hands on his hips, and Hakyeon raises an eyebrow. Wonshik doesn’t take well to impertinence, especially as he doesn’t know Sanghyuk as well as he knows Hongbin. “It’s so ugly! Look at it.”

But to Hakyeon’s surprise, Wonshik just shrugs. “Yeah. But it’s big enough that we’ll all have enough to room to breathe and not get underfoot with each other.” He turns to eye Hakyeon, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t want your sadness to spread.”

“With friends like you, Wonshik,” Hakyeon says sweetly, coming over and slinging an arm over Wonshik’s shoulders, “who needs an enemy like Taekwoon?”

Wonshik just rolls his eyes and, with a huff, picks up the bags at Sanghyuk’s feet—all of them—and makes his way towards the front door of the absurd mansion, his feet crunching on the gravel. The others all stand there for a moment before Hakyeon sighs and follows him, figuring he needs to beat Sanghyuk and Hongbin before they inevitably find the best bed and take it for themselves.

“You two are sleeping in the basement, right?” he calls to the vampires as Wonshik opens the front door. “These kinds of houses do have basements, you know. Might be better than trying to light-proof a room.”

He doesn’t get any response to that at all, which he’d expected, but it’s perhaps because they’re all taken back by the opulence of the lobby—and it’s really a proper, honest-to-god lobby they’re standing in. There’s a ridiculous marble staircase in front of them, wide and with ornately carved banisters, and Hakyeon begins to have flashbacks. They stayed in houses just like this all over Europe, perhaps even finer; he hasn’t tasted opulence like it since, and he should have known Wonshik would have missed it.

“Holy shit,” Sanghyuk whispers from behind Hakyeon, the sound echoing. “This place is on another level. How much did this _cost?_ ”

“When you get to my age, Sanghyuk, you become accustomed to a certain lifestyle.” This Wonshik says rather smugly as he’s ascending the stairs, his steps uncertain since he can’t see where he’s going thanks to the bags in his arms.

Hongbin snorts. “I suppose that’s why our apartment looks like an Ikea display room, then.”

Hakyeon starts laughing at that as he follows Wonshik up the stairs—he can’t help it. He’s missed all this so much, and there’s no one that can push Wonshik’s buttons quite like Hongbin. The others all look at him for a moment, like the sound is foreign, and perhaps it is. It feels like the first time he’s laughed in a year.

“It’s economical _and_ comfortable,” Wonshik shoots back over his shoulder at Hongbin, dumping the bags on the ground once he reaches the top of the stairs. “Plus, I enjoy the simplicity in Swedish design, not that you would know anything about that.” He sniffs disdainfully and sweeps an arm wide. “Now get out of my sight. Go select rooms. I’m laying claim to the basement.”

Hakyeon waits for Sanghyuk to find the bag he’s packed for him and then he wanders off down the hall, opening doors absentmindedly as he tries to relax. The house is beautiful; there’s no doubt about that. It’s opulent and grand and old-fashioned, and the exact opposite of his apartment back home, which is the very picture of modern, clean openness. Wonshik is obviously trying to take his mind off any memories of Seoul, but he isn’t sure it’s working. This far from the city his skin is no longer itchy and it doesn’t feel like his own brain is rebelling against him, but it doesn’t feel right, either. He can’t fight against an angel, of course—none of them can, not separate and not together—but that doesn’t mean he feels right being away from the fight. And that’s not even touching the Jaehwan issue. Surely, _surely_ , if he was alive he’d have found a way to get a message to Hakyeon. Surely?

In the end he selects a reasonably large bedroom at the end of one of the hallways. When he pulls at the curtains the beach is staring back at him, and at this time of night it looks spectacular; the water is black and the sand so white it’s nearly grey when lit by the moon, bright in the sky. Sanghyuk was right—this place must have cost an absolute fortune. Hakyeon writes a mental note to himself to pay Wonshik back at some point, before opening the windows and turning to the bed.

He really shouldn’t be tired. He’s already slept so much today; he slept with Wonshik all through the day, and then once more in the van. But this is more than just sleepiness. It’s a bone-deep exhaustion that he feels down to his very soul, and he wants to do nothing more than to lie here and sleep for an eternity. No, even that’s a lie—what he wants the most in the world is Jaehwan, alive and well, but that’s an impossibility. Another reason why sleep is good. It’s a refuge from these types of traitorous thoughts.

He drifts off to violent fantasies of sinking a knife into Taekwoon’s gut, twisting it to watch pain flit across his face, the revenge he deserves for everything he’s done.


	3. Chapter 3

The house is so huge that one could almost spend days in it without seeing anyone else, and for the first few days that they’re all there that’s exactly what happens. Sanghyuk spends the nights wandering the beach with Hongbin, or exploring the little town that’s a few minutes’ drive away, and during the day they fall into bed and sleep, safe behind Sanghyuk’s rudimentary light proofing (he’d covered the whole window with three layers of tape and had Wonshik check it). He stays away from Hakyeon for various reasons. They still aren’t back to normal—that could have something to do with the fact that _Hakyeon_ is obviously not back to normal—and he figures it’s best if he lets Hakyeon adjust for a few days. It’s not like he’s lacking for things to do, either. Wonshik produces a laptop out of thin air (“did you know he had that?” Sanghyuk whispers to Hongbin, who just shakes his head) and asks Sanghyuk’s help with connecting to the internet, for reasons he won’t disclose. If it had been anyone else Sanghyuk would think they wanted to watch porn, but since it’s Wonshik he probably wants to read magazines on Swedish furniture, or the state of the economy in Libya, or whatever his hobbies are.

He wakes early on the third day, jolting upright and flinching at nothing. At first he doesn’t realise what’s caused him to awaken, but then feels it—through the bond, Hakyeon is nervous, pensive. Sanghyuk slips out of bed and pads down the hallway, heading instinctually to where he knows Hakyeon is, not even paying attention to where he’s going, really. His feet are moving on autopilot.

He finds Hakyeon sitting on the windowsill, staring out at the beach. It’s the first time Sanghyuk’s seen the sun in what must be weeks, and he squints at it suspiciously but approaches anyway. “You woke me up,” he says conversationally, trying to be light-hearted about it. “Anything to share?”

“Sorry.” Hakyeon turns to him and grimaces. They _are_ getting better at shielding things, but it’s nearly impossible to keep up during sleep. “Just the usual. Can’t get black eyes out of my head.”

Sanghyuk wisely decides not to ask whose black eyes and instead takes another step closer, placing his hand on the back of Hakyeon’s neck. It’s just the simplest of touches. It’s not even romantic in nature, but the bond between them reacts anyway and they both sink down into that little bit of solace it creates for the both of them. “I’ve got something for you,” he tells Hakyeon.

“Oh?” Hakyeon shuts his eyes and leans back against Sanghyuk, even as Sanghyuk feels a little stab of guilt run through the bond. Hakyeon feels terrible that everyone has uprooted their lives for him, and he feels terrible about how much all this costs, and he feels terrible that now Sanghyuk’s spending money on him. All this Sanghyuk gets not so much from the bond but from how well he knows Hakyeon by now. “What is it?”

“It’s in the bathroom. Come on.”

He’d been saving this for a really bad moment, when Hakyeon was absolutely torn apart by anguish, but it feels right enough now so he turns and heads back down the hall to the largest bathroom in the house. It features an enormous bathtub—he and Hongbin used it yesterday—on a raised platform in the middle of the room, which he’s sure isn’t period-accurate but makes for an exquisite visual anyway. Hakyeon shifts restlessly as he digs in the small suitcase he’d designated for bathroom stuff (his skincare practically needs its own itinerary, there’s so much of it) before coming upon the thing he’s bought for this very purpose and, turning, he thrusts it at Hakyeon unceremoniously. “Here. I brought this along for you.”

It’s Hakyeon’s favourite bath bomb—he always has at least three of them in his bathroom cupboard at home (he loves stealing them) and Sanghyuk knows, for a fact, that he uses them whenever he’s feeling particularly stressed out. Hakyeon takes the bath bomb at the same time that his face crumples and he sags, shoulders rounding in like a comma. He looks so small and pathetic—such a far cry from the graceful confident creature Sanghyuk had first met all those years ago—that Sanghyuk pulls him in for a hug without even thinking about it. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Hakyeon sniffles, but then he seems to remember that Sanghyuk will know that he’s lying and sighs. “It’s… stupid to cry over a bath bomb. But you didn’t have to do this for me. Especially after I’ve been so horrible to you.” He pulls back and cups Sanghyuk’s cheek, smiles, sniffs. “I’m so sorry for all those times I’ve yelled at you recently. You don’t deserve it.”

At Hakyeon's apology, something inside Sanghyuk—something he didn’t even realise he was holding onto until now—breaks and he smiles, large and wide, wide enough for the two of them. “It’s fine, hyung. You’re forgiven. When this shit is all over you can buy me a decade’s worth of drinks, or something. But let’s just have a bath now.”

They take turns helping each out of their clothes slowly, and for once it’s not sexual. Sanghyuk nearly trips on his pyjama pants and Hakyeon has to catch him, and that sets them both off in waves of giggles that refuse to go away no matter what. Sanghyuk draws the bath scalding hot, the way he knows Hakyeon likes it, and they get in together; Hakyeon lies between Sanghyuk’s legs, his back against Sanghyuk’s chest, and they drop the bath bomb in the water and watch it fizz away.

“Thanks for this,” Hakyeon mumbles when it’s dispersed and they’re sitting in floral-scented blue glittery water. “It helps more than I thought it would.”

Sanghyuk just presses the briefest of feathery kisses to Hakyeon’s earlobe and trails his hands gently over his chest, feeling how smooth his skin is. The heat of the bath, and the comforting feeling of Hakyeon in his arms, is making him sleepy. “Did you really have an orgy with a whole houseful of people here?” he asks, half-remembering what Wonshik had said in the van; he’d been barely awake, and the words come back to him now.

Hakyeon snorts and slips down in the water so his chin is submerged. “Not in this house, but yes, in this town.” And he sighs, and Sanghyuk can tell it’s a sigh tinged with centuries and centuries of memories.

“Tell me.”

With a jerky, uncoordinated movement, Hakyeon turns around—splashing water everywhere in the process—so he’s looking up at Sanghyuk. His hair is wet and pushed back from his forehead, and his eyelashes have beaded with water, and Sanghyuk sees how he can have anyone he wants. “Are you asking because you want me to tell you as a mentor, or out of curiosity?”

“Out of curiosity.” He pauses and pretends to think. “Or both, actually.” He’s been to a few orgies throughout his career, but they’re not exactly commonplace. He’s been to many more mixed sex parties, although seeing heterosexual couples getting it on doesn’t do much for him.

He listens as Hakyeon tells him the story, trailing his hands absentmindedly up and down Hakyeon’s back as he does. He and Wonshik had come to the town under the guise of being brothers—which is farfetched since they look nothing alike, but Hakyeon had explained he wore a skin that looked a bit more like Wonshik in those days, which is quite possibly the funniest thing Sanghyuk’s ever heard—and when they moved into the biggest house in town he’d set about glamouring everyone in the house as a challenge. The women had been easy; he’d barely had to glamour them at all. The men were more of a challenge, and there had been a few that remained unswayed so Hakyeon had left them—but seduction is an art and he’s a master, as Sanghyuk is all-too aware, so it hadn’t been that hard.

“Walking into that room stark naked and having all those people waiting for me,” Hakyeon breathes, and Sanghyuk senses he’s very far away in his head. “That is true power, Sanghyuk. I’ve never felt anything like it. With that many people it’s almost like the glamour was multiplied. You could smell it in the air. So much sex, so much hedonism. I fed so well I wouldn’t have had to touch anyone for weeks, but I was so hungry in those days. I fed nearly every day. It was exquisite. Wonshik had to leave the house for the whole night; he couldn’t stand to be around all that… power.”

Picturing it in his head, Hakyeon must have looked like a god. Sanghyuk doesn’t say that, though; it’s not like he needs his ego inflated any more than it already is. Hakyeon’s eyes begin to glow yellow as he continues with the story. He’d fucked his way through the whole room, having sex with men and having sex with women and sometimes doing both at the same time. “My favourite, though, was this man who worked as Wonshik’s dresser, I think. He was about twenty-two and tall, and he had the most gorgeous eyes I’d ever seen. The moment he laid hands on me and I began to taste him I realised he’d done this before.”

It’s happened to Sanghyuk, too; sometimes thoughts and feelings slipped in when he was feeding from a victim. The first time it had happened he’d freaked the fuck out, thinking he’d done something wrong; Hakyeon had had to explain that it was perfectly normal.

“I had a lot of orgasms that day,” Hakyeon continues, “but nothing like what he did to me. He had the most phenomenal… mouth.” His eyes are bright yellow now and they fall to Sanghyuk’s lips. The feeding urge stirs within Sanghyuk’s chest, but he tamps it down, waiting. He’s hyper-aware that he’s hard and has been for some time. “He looked up at me right as I came and he _winked_ , and… God, Sanghyuk. He looked sort of like you, now that I think about it.”

That snaps whatever control Sanghyuk had—which was barely-there in the first place—and then they’re kissing, wet and furious and heated, gasping into each other’s mouths as they rut against each other. Water is splashing absolutely _everywhere_ , but then Hakyeon curls a hand in his hair and pulls and he thinks about nothing at all. His hands find Hakyeon’s ass and grind him down, wanting more friction. It’s fucking fantastic, made better by the warmth of the bathwater and the way their bodies slip together, and Sanghyuk wonders how he’s never had sex in a bath before. “Hey hyung,” he whispers, strained, choking on the syllables. Hakyeon looks up, and he looks so desperate that Sanghyuk shudders, shivers running up his spine and slithering around his neck. It’s hard to find words when Hakyeon’s hips are undulating against his in a frantic rhythm, but he manages. “Did—did he look like this?”

He winks and bites his lip, and Hakyeon comes with a cry that trails off into a breathy moan. His eyes glow yellow, but he doesn’t take any of Sanghyuk’s energy—it’s clear that he’s got more than enough. “Jesus,” he says as he collapses onto Sanghyuk’s chest, aftershocks making him shudder. He trails one hand down through the water to close around Sanghyuk’s cock, stroking him in even, smooth strokes, making Sanghyuk writhe. “Sanghyuk, please, wanna see you come for me.”

That’s a command he could never resist, not when he was human and not when Hakyeon says it like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. The urge to close his eyes is overpowering but he keeps them open as his orgasm builds and builds and—and hits him, making him arch his back and moan as Hakyeon continues jerking him off throughout. Instinctually, without meaning to, he feeds off Hakyeon as he does. All he gets is a little taste, but what he feels shocks him and makes him jerk again, on the verge of another orgasm. “Don’t stop,” he growls, and Hakyeon, with wild eyes, doesn’t.

Hakyeon is full of energy, literally _full_. He had no idea that would send him crashing towards another orgasm again, but it is, and he just—he needs—“Your fingers,” he gasps brokenly, and when Hakyeon reaches down and slides one finger inside of him, plunging it deep and crooking it upwards, he comes again. This orgasm is like a fucking out-of-body experience, and he takes more energy as he does, his eyes rolling back in his head as he bucks and writhes underneath Hakyeon’s touch.

“What the fuck was that?” he mutters hoarsely a few moments later, as they’re both coming down off the high.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Hakyeon smiles, and he looks more himself than he has in weeks. “Sorry. I should have mentioned. When we get full like this, we… well, to mortals we’re irresistible. They’re completely drawn to us. Other immortals don’t get the full effect unless they feed on us… which you did.”

“Bit of warning would have been nice. I think I’m blind. Or _dead_ ,” he complains, closing his eyes, but it’s not genuine and Hakyeon knows it. “We need to shower now.”

Hakyeon sighs, and when Sanghyuk opens his eyes again he can see he’s pouting petulantly. “And to think you brought this bath bomb and we didn’t even get to savour it for that long.” Sanghyuk just looks at him evenly, one eyebrow raised, and eventually Hakyeon cracks. “Okay, that was better than savouring it. I agree. Come on, then.”

They stand in the bath as the water drains—Sanghyuk insists on rinsing it out while Hakyeon shivers—before towelling each other off and getting in the shower. He stands there, under the water turned onto full blast, and lets Hakyeon scrub his back before doing the same for him. In the end they end up draped in each other’s arms, just standing there, eyes closed and minds blank. It’s the first moment of true peace he’s had in what feels like years, but is really only weeks, and he smiles against the skin of Hakyeon’s neck and feels some of his worries dissipate, at least for now.

//

“Hyung, do you think you could shift into a dragon?”

Hakyeon’s curled up on the sofa, his eyes closed as he listens to what’s going on around him. He’s not sleeping, not trying to really; there’s nothing to do, so he’s just… lying there. Hongbin and Sanghyuk were perched on the other sofa watching _Game of Thrones_ on the television, but Sanghyuk was summoned to the other room by Wonshik a few minutes ago and hasn’t yet returned. Over the sound of the television and the rain pelting the windows, Hakyeon can hear the low murmur of their voices.

He cracks an eyelid open to look at Hongbin, who’s taken the opportunity to sprawl across the whole sofa, a can of Hakyeon’s red bull in his hand. “What do you mean?” he asks lazily, and then looks at the television. Daenerys is riding one of her dragons through the sky as it breathes fire on those unlucky enough to be below, and he snorts, although it’s half-hearted at best. “Oh. That. I suppose so.”

“What do you mean you suppose so?”

“Shifting into something that big would take an enormous amount of energy,” he explains tiredly. “The further the change takes me from this body the more energy it takes. If I shift into a woman, it takes a nice chunk. If I shift into an animal, it takes even more. Etcetera.”

Hongbin’s eyes turn beseeching. “Do you think you could do it, just once?”

He’s really not in the mood for this conversation. He’s not in the mood for anything, really; it’s only been a week since Sanghyuk surprised him with the bath bomb, but the moment the rain had started his mood had taken a turn for the worse and that’s how he’s been, all day and into the night. He knows why, but hasn’t breathed a word to anyone. Sanghyuk’s picked up on it and he’s sure Hongbin has too, but Wonshik is blissfully ignorant—especially since he’s now busy with his newest hobby, one that leaves him scratching his head. “Since when has Wonshik been on the internet?” he asks, deliberately changing the subject. In all honesty he has enough energy now that he probably _could_ shift into a dragon if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. “I didn’t even think he owned a laptop.”

“Neither did I.” Hongbin shrugs, like Wonshik’s whims are above him—and they probably are. “I think he bought it for this trip specially. He’s been getting Sanghyuk to help him set it up and stuff. I don’t get it.”

It’s a puzzle, especially since Wonshik has been, for as long as Hakyeon’s known him, the most technologically-averse creature Hakyeon has ever met. But he’s too melancholy and apathetic to put effort into figuring it out—he’s probably just discovered ebay and that’s got him all in a tizzy—so he just closes his eyes again, rolls over onto his other side, and tries not to think of Jaehwan.

It’s a hopeless pursuit, so he rolls into a ball, thinking that will help. It doesn’t, of course. He doesn’t even stir when he feels Hongbin cross the room to touch him on the shoulder. “Hyung,” he starts, sitting on the sofa next to Hakyeon. “What’s wrong?” When Hakyeon doesn’t reply, he rolls him over so they’re face-to-face, or close to it. “Do you have seasonal affective disorder?”

He can’t even bring himself to smile at Hongbin’s weak attempt at a joke. If only it was seasonal affective disorder. “I’m fine.”

“Your aura is so red you’re all purple,” Hongbin points out, rolling his eyes so much Hakyeon wonders, for a moment, if they might fall out of his skull. Most of the time Hongbin’s sensitivity to all things immortal comes in handy, but right now it’s not—his sadness is apparently turning his aura from its normal pale, gossamer blue to a purple. “I don’t need some metaphysical bond with you to see that. So just tell me what’s up. Can I fix it?”

He’s so earnest, so caring, that Hakyeon shuffles a bit closer and puts his head in Hongbin’s lap. “Why is sadness red? Wouldn’t anger be red?”

“It changes from person to person. When you get angry you go white, like… like steel being heated. Sanghyuk goes red. When he’s sad he goes grey, almost like Wonshik hyung.” He strokes Hakyeon’s hair softly, and smiles. “But I’m not _that_ easily distracted. Tell me what’s up.”

He makes a mental note to ask Hongbin more about the colours later—he’s never really sat down and had a conversation with him about it, mainly because for most of his immortal existence he was too busy learning to be a vampire to tune into his ‘sixth sense’, for lack of a better term, and learn to read auras. Only Hongbin knows the limits of his ability, and he’s never really shared them before. Even Wonshik isn’t too sure what he can and cannot discern.

“I’m just thinking about Jaehwan,” he confesses eventually, although it’s not much of a confession because when is he not? “The rain is… it hurts.”

“What happened?” Hongbin’s voice is a low hum, deep and soothing, and Hakyeon closes his eyes.

“I first told him I loved him in the rain.”

He won’t ever forget that day—they’d gone bowling, laughing the whole time about it was the most mortal, mundane thing they could come up with. Jaehwan had kicked Hakyeon’s ass, to no one’s surprise, and as a consolation prize he’d bought ice cream for the walk home. They’d been eating it when the skies had opened with absolutely no warning, drenching them down to the bone. It had been funny to watch the mortals scurry everywhere like ants, and they’d just stood there with their ice cream and watched—until Hakyeon had turned to see Jaehwan regarding him like he was something precious, something Jaehwan had never seen before, and something shifted in his heart and he stiffened. He’d said the words without even thinking about them, and Jaehwan’s eyes had widened—it was one of the rare times Hakyeon’s seen him surprised, and he only had a flash of smugness before Jaehwan had thrown the ice cream over his shoulder to grab Hakyeon around the waist and kiss him like he was desperate. Hakyeon was too stunned to do anything but kiss him back, not even bothering to protest that they were in _public_ ; he was always weak for Jaehwan, and caught up in the heady feeling of him he just hadn’t found the words. When they broke apart Jaehwan was grinning like Hakyeon had just made him the happiest man on earth, and Hakyeon realised he’d never seen anything more wonderful in his entire existence. “Took you long enough to admit it, little incubus,” he’d whispered, but his eyes were bright. “I love you too.”

Hongbin listens to the story quietly, stroking Hakyeon’s hair throughout because he knows that human contact is what Hakyeon needs right now. When it’s over they sit in silence for a while—the sound of the television and the rain provides a nice soundtrack to the pensive mood—before Hongbin strokes his cheek, making him look up. “That’s a beautiful story,” he whispers, and his eyes are sad. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He doesn’t even realise until he’s crying until Hongbin wipes away his tears gently, a ghost of a smile on his face. Belatedly he realises that the rain holds significance for him, too; Hakyeon will never forget that night he rose from the ground, covered in dirt with scarlet eyes that seared through him. “Thank you for listening to it,” he says with a sniffle, which makes Hongbin smile slightly wider.

“I’m always here to listen to your stories, hyung, you know that.” Hongbin bends down to kiss him on the forehead, and they both sigh with contentedness.

The moment is broken by none other than Sanghyuk, who walks back into the room and yawns loudly. “Trying to explain to Wonshik how to use an online library is like trying to explain rocket science to a caveman,” he groans. “What did I miss? Are the white walkers dead?” He stops dead when he realises what he’s walked into, eyes wide. “Um, am I interrupting?”

“Nothing bad,” Hongbin replies easily, turning with a smile. Hakyeon struggles up onto his elbows and shapeshifts the tears away, but Sanghyuk—always too quick for his own good—catches it and narrows his eyes. “Hakyeon hyung was just telling me a story about him and Jaehwan. You should ask him to tell you someday.”

They reassume the positions, Hongbin curling up in Sanghyuk’s arms as they turn back to the television. It felt nice to tell that story; Hakyeon isn’t really used to bottling things up, since he’s usually an open book (too open, if you ask Wonshik). He hadn’t even realised he was hanging onto it until the words were suddenly hard to find, but at least now they’re out there. What he and Jaehwan had won’t die with them.

This time, sleep comes easily to him, and he drifts off to the sounds of muffled conversation between Hongbin and Sanghyuk above the noise of the rain, which doesn’t sound quite so oppressive as before.

//

The moment the sun sinks into the sky Wonshik’s eyes snap open and he lies there for a moment, coming back to himself. He’s so used to his apartment back home in Seoul that he’s still getting used to not waking up there; this basement is damp and musty, but it’s secluded and the internet connection (Sanghyuk calls it wi-fi, but technology is not a language that comes naturally to Wonshik, something that frustrates him to no end since he’s normally so good with them) reaches down here, so the privacy is exactly what he’s craving right now. Besides, Hongbin and Sanghyuk are still in the insufferable phase of their relationship where they’re constantly mooning over each other, always touching and kissing; it doesn’t make Wonshik sick, but he’s bored of it. And Hakyeon’s not great company either.

A pang of guilt runs through him at that as he takes his portable computer and heads for the stairs. It’s not exactly Hakyeon’s fault he’s fallen in love with a creature that shouldn’t exist in the first place, and that that creature happens to have baggage—but, well, Wonshik warned him.

“And that same creature saved your life,” he reminds himself out loud as he reaches the top of the stairs and cocks his head, listening. It’s something that he has to keep saying to himself so he doesn’t forget. As much as he disliked Jaehwan, and as much as he knew their relationship was doomed from the start, he does not take his sacrifice for granted. Every moment that he’s on this earth is stolen, now moreso than ever, and it hurts in ways he never expected.

He senses them in the kitchen so heads that way, although when he gets closer he realises it’s just the lovebirds and sighs as he walks into the room. Thankfully they aren’t doing anything too revolting—the amount of times Wonshik’s walked in on _that_ has been far too high, although it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before thanks to centuries spent living with Hakyeon—and they’re just leaning against the kitchen counter, watching something on Sanghyuk’s phone. “Hey, hyung,” they greet, echoes of each other, and Wonshik grunts a reply.

“I think you should talk to Hakyeon,” Hongbin says, turning to lean on the counter as Wonshik heads for the fridge. “He’s gone all weird again.”

They’ve been here for two weeks now, half their allotted time, and Hakyeon’s mood seems to go in cycles—he’ll be normal (or what passes as normal for him these days) for a few days before he’ll take a turn for the worse and retreat into himself again, not leaving bed unless prompted, shuffling around with no regards to his appearance. He’s obviously taken another turn, and Wonshik leans his forehead against the fridge. “Alright. I’ve got a few ideas. Stay here, I won’t be long.”

He turns and leaves through the front door (thankfully it’s not raining tonight), eyeing the car suspiciously before turning in the direction of town and starting to run. It’s been years since they were last here, but on the first night he’d gone for a walk to stake it out and so knows the layout of the town intimately. There’s a few bars, more than a few restaurants, and, most importantly, a twenty-four hour convenience store that stocks exactly what he needs.

He’s back in under ten minutes, and the lovebirds look up when he walks in, noting the plastic bags in his arms and raising their eyebrows. “Is that what I think it is?” Sanghyuk says eagerly, sidling closer once Wonshik puts the bags down and he hears the clink of bottles.

“I might not be any good at the internet,” Wonshik replies evenly as he reaches in the bag and pulls out a bottle of vodka, “but only being able to drink for six centuries means I’ve gotten damn good at mixing cocktails.”

“Fuck yeah,” Sanghyuk breathes, eyes bright as Wonshik hands him the bottle.

//

Wonshik doesn’t even bother knocking—it’s not a courtesy Hakyeon’s ever done him, so he’s not about to turn the tables and start now. It’s not like he needs to, anyway. Hakyeon is just a motionless lump underneath the covers, although the blinds are drawn and the window is open so Wonshik knows he’s awake. “Hey,” he starts, and sits on the edge of the bed. “I’ve got something for you.”

That must pique Hakyeon’s curiosity, because Wonshik sees mussed hair appear out of the pile of blankets, and then eyes that widen when he sees what Wonshik’s holding. “Day drinking?” he admonishes, but he sits up properly and takes the drink with an eagerness that Wonshik hasn’t seen for a while.

“It’s eight-thirty in the evening,” Wonshik replies, but dodges the swipe that Hakyeon aims at him. He’s got his lips wrapped around the straw—he’d found a packet of curly ones in the shop—and is sucking at the cocktail gratefully now. It’s one of his favourites, a drink rather aptly named Sex on the Beach; too sweet for Wonshik’s tastes, but nice in a sickly way. “Get out of bed. The others are waiting.” Hakyeon looks like he’s about to argue, but Wonshik just shakes his head. “There’s more alcohol out there.”

He’d known that would work, and so when he slips off the bed and pads back down towards the lounge room, he hears Hakyeon follow him and bites back a smile. The other two look up when they walk in, and Wonshik nearly rolls his eyes; this is a scene he’s familiar with, considering drinking is one of the things they all have in common and is such something they all partake in. There’s bottles of spirits and soju on the floor, and the lovebirds are sitting cross legged on the sofa as they sip at the cocktails Wonshik had made them—something hideous called Tie Me to the Bedpost for Sanghyuk, and a Bloody Mary for Hongbin (they’d both laughed their asses off when asking for them, and Wonshik had nearly smacked the both of them)—although they look up and smile widely at Hakyeon, clearly glad to see him out of bed. “Hyung!” Sanghyuk says, and raises his glass. “This was all Wonshik’s idea, so don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” Hakyeon replies and then, with no shame at all, tips his glass back and sculls the rest of his cocktail with gusto. “Another?” This he directs at Wonshik, pushing the glass into his hands with a smirk.

He’s being deliberately antagonistic, but Wonshik just rolls his eyes and heads for the kitchen. He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but it’s entirely possible he’s misjudged the situation and Hakyeon’s about to drink himself into a coma. It was just a few weeks ago that he was overindulging in everything else, after all. He wonders for a moment if he should cut Hakyeon off already, but then shrugs. He’s a big boy and can handle himself. Wonshik’s responsibilities don’t extend that far and never have so, with a sigh, he reaches for the vodka again, nibbling at his lip somewhat nervously.

//

“Something techno!”

“No, no, something rock!”

Hakyeon scoffs from where he’s sitting on the floor leaning against the sofa, his head lolling slightly. “You severely underestimate me if you think I can’t dance to _rock_.”

It had been Sanghyuk’s idea at first, although the others had all agreed enthusiastically, Wonshik included; he’s not sure why he didn’t think of it first (although it probably has something to do with the four bottles of soju he’s downed). Hakyeon had been boasting that he could dance to any genre of music on the planet, so Sanghyuk’d suggested finding something he _couldn’t_ dance to, which is why they’re all crowded around Wonshik’s computer as Hongbin flicks through song titles. “Mongolian throat singing,” Wonshik offers, and Hakyeon reaches over and smacks him on the leg.

“Wait, wait,” Hongbin slurs, holding up a hand. “I’ve got it.”

He turns the screen to face Sanghyuk and Wonshik, but Wonshik just shrugs—music was never really his forte, so he only vaguely knows the band on the screen. “Do it, do it,” Sanghyuk urges, and reaches for the wine bottle nearest him.

So that’s how Hakyeon ends up dancing to _Paint It Black_ by the Rolling Stones for them. Despite how drunk he is—and at this point he can barely stay upright, so when he tries to turn he nearly falls—he somehow manages to keep up with the rhythm, leaping and twirling clumsily all over the living room as the others all clap along, falling over themselves with laughter. At one point Hakyeon drags Wonshik up and they dance a sloppy tango, Hakyeon taking the lead; Wonshik laughs so hard he cries, and even though he’s got blood trickling down his face Hakyeon doesn’t relent and starts to do some bizarre parody of an Irish jig, his face stretched so wide it his smile is practically splitting his face in two.

It’s the best night Wonshik’s had in years, and when the music stops he pulls Hakyeon in and kisses him on the side of the cheek. “You got blood on me,” Hakyeon bellows, and then Wonshik starts running as Hakyeon chases him.

Everything’s still not perfect—far from it—but god knows that, like this with his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright and a smile not far from his face, Hakyeon looks better than he has in weeks, and Wonshik really truly believes that he’ll get better. This will pass, this _will_ pass, and as he allows himself to get caught and as Hakyeon falls upon him to try and tickle him, he doesn’t resist and instead lets him, hoping that wherever Jaehwan is he knows what they’re all doing to try and keep him treading water.


	4. Chapter 4

Hakyeon rises early one day and slips out of the house barefoot, heading to the beach. The sand is deliciously hot underneath his feet, and he half expects to see mortals out and about—but this stretch of beach is abandoned and so, with no hesitation, he walks straight into the sea without even taking his clothes off. For a moment he floats face-down and considers breathing in before remembering, belatedly, that he won’t die. It’ll just hurt, and he already hurts enough. Instead he rolls over onto his back and floats, closing his eyes and feeling the sun on his face.

It’s not even that he’s particularly depressed; that’s slowly been abating. Instead what’s wreathing him is that familiar numbness, the one he’d felt last time. It’s familiar in a vaguely horrifying way, because at least last time the numbness was self-inflicted; he’d driven Jaehwan away out of fear and anger, and he’d had to reap what he sowed. But this? He didn’t ask for this and doesn’t want it. Even the other week, when Wonshik had plied him with alcohol until he was too drunk to see anything and certainly too drunk to be upset over Jaehwan, there’d been a numbness that washed over him the moment the others had fallen asleep. He’d sat on the sand and watched the sun rise and thought of Jaehwan, somewhere unknown, doing the same.

The water is cold, and a shock to his system, but that’s it. It’s not startling him into feeling anything, so resignedly he strikes out back towards shore, shapeshifting his clothes dry the moment he’s back on the sand. There’s still hours to go until the others wake up and so he begins walking up the beach instead, wrapping his arms around himself even though he isn’t cold.

Any hope he’d had upon arriving here that Jaehwan was still alive has nearly been extinguished. It’s been nearly a month with no contact—and while he has no doubt Jaehwan could heal from the energy he gave Wonshik, he’d need time to do that, time he evidently did not have because Taekwoon was hot on his tail. On one hand he thinks (hopes) that Taekwoon would not turn down an opportunity to taunt Hakyeon with Jaehwan’s limp corpse, as hideous a thought as that is; at least he’d have closure. But if Jaehwan was alive, he’d have found a way to get a message to Hakyeon. Neither of those things have happened. So where is he?

He hears voices on the wind and looks up, realising that in his stupor he’s walked so far up the beach he’s wandered into town. There’s families scattered all over the sand, sunbathing and playing in the water and doing ordinary, mortal things in the last light of the day, and Hakyeon hunches his shoulders and wishes he was somewhere else. He walks right past them all, not making eye contact and not even bothering to smile at any of them. Empty, he’s empty, lost and adrift without any knowledge to Jaehwan’s whereabouts and no way to find out. Not for the first time he wishes he could care enough to lose his temper, to shout and scream at the sky that things aren’t fair—but he’s old enough to know that life isn’t fair and so he just does not bother.

The town is quaint, and although it’s modernised along with the rest of the country it still has a certain air about it that Hakyeon remembers from the last time he was here. He can picture it so well, can almost see the past dancing in front of him like a haze; he and Wonshik would ride a buggy into town, Hakyeon driving since Wonshik said horses made him suspicious, and they’d walk along the beach and talk about everything and nothing. The streets were rough-hewn stones back then, not asphalt like now, and they’d worn hanbok; a different time entirely. He moves like a ghost through the tourists, remaining unnoticed, his mind somewhere very far away.

If he could go back and do it again, would he have stayed home that night? Would he have ignored Jaehwan instead of running into his arms time after time? Sanghyuk wouldn’t have died, but he wouldn’t have met Hongbin. Hakyeon wouldn’t have his heart torn out, but he wouldn’t know Jaehwan’s love. There’s two sides to every coin, and he finds that he can’t even answer as to whether he’d change a thing, selfish as it is. Perhaps all he has is the illusion of control. Perhaps their paths are set in stone from the beginning, unchangeable and immovable; maybe his continued existence is pointless.

He wishes he had as easy a way out as the vampires do.

He ends up in front of a blacksmith's, a sight that shocks him out of his reverie and leaves him feeling a little unsettled. It’s nearly unchanged from two hundred years ago—still the same building, by the looks of it. He’s sure he’s been here in the past to have horses shod, and as he enters through the doorway—still not sure why he’s here—he almost expects the blacksmith to be the same. He isn’t, of course, and is sitting on a stool polishing… a sword?

“Not your typical blacksmithy, I guess,” he says as way of greeting.

The man looks up—he’s old, with deep wrinkles carved into his face and liver-spots scattered all over his head and arms—and smiles. “We’ve just moved into the twenty-first century, is all,” he replies, and tilts his head to Hakyeon’s left.

There’s a family there, although Hakyeon hadn’t noticed them before. They’re posing in front of a backdrop, costumes draped over their bodies and swords in their hands—replica katana, the same type of sword Jaehwan wields—as a man in his twenties stands behind a camera, giving them directions with an air of bored displeasure. Off to the side, Hakyeon can see a container of all different types of prop weapons and, hanging next to it, costumes ranging from pirates to gisaeng to western-style cowboys in all sizes. “So I see,” he says, turning back to the old man to see that the sword he’s polishing is a replica as well. It’s thicker, wider, a broadsword; this is the type of sword that he’s seen Taekwoon with, and he shudders. “Is this all you do these days?”

“Make horseshoes too,” the man grunts, and Hakyeon recalls seeing a sign for horse-riding tours along the beach in his way through town. “That’s it.”

Hakyeon regards the man for a moment. He must be in his seventies; the knowledge of how to forge a weapon, as he probably knows how to do, may well die with him. He dredges up an excuse for a smile and slaps it on his face, knowing it’s weak and hoping this old man is going blind so he won’t see through it. He doesn’t even have the heart to glamour him and hopes old-fashioned charm will do the job. “Surely you know how to forge weapons,” he says, and raises an eyebrow archly. “ _Real_ weapons, not prop ones.”

This gets the old man’s attention, and he stops polishing the sword and looks up at Hakyeon with interest on his face. “Oh? Are you a collector?”

“Something like that.” Hakyeon waves a hand in the air dismissively and feels his spirits lifting. “I’m after a dagger.” He could ask for a sword like the ones he used to dance with as a gisaeng, but what was it he’d said to Wonshik? Songi is dead, and just because he’s backtracking into his past doesn’t mean he has to revive her. “Do you think you could do something like that?”

The old man just smiles at him, and this time the smile that Hakyeon gives him back is genuine.

//

The little burst of energy he’d found in the blacksmith’s doesn’t last very long, and by the time he makes his way back to the house the sun is setting and he’s sure the others are stirring. In fact, right before he remembers to close himself off from Sanghyuk, he feels an intense burst of happiness leak through the bond. Thankfully the house is big enough for him to make it to his room unseen, and he shuts the door behind him and crawls into bed, shapeshifting all his clothes away and shivering at the tingle of energy it takes from him. He may have to feed before he leaves this place after all.

He hears his door open and recognises the feel of Wonshik, so just lays there still and silent until he goes away. He doesn’t want company right now. He wants to wallow in his numbness, to revel in nothing and to let go of all his memories. All they’re doing right now is haunting him.

His last thought before he drifts off to sleep is of a different time, of dancing for Wonshik on the beach, dragging him into the water and laughing until they both cried.

//

When his eyes next flick open it’s still dark outside and he’s hard. He only has a breath of solace to drift his hand down over his chest and stomach, feeling himself while still only half-awake, before lust slams into him with a jolt, making him cry out. “What the fu—” he gasps, and realises it’s not his.

Of course it’s not his—the barriers between minds slip closed during sleep, so he’s not filtering what Sanghyuk is feeling. But, interestingly, neither is Sanghyuk. Instead of slamming shut the connection between them and rolling over and going to sleep, he closes a hand around himself and strokes languidly, feeling vaguely guilty but only for a second. It’s not being voyeuristic, not really; if anything, Sanghyuk’s the one being an exhibitionist.

The feeling of his own hand only placates him for a moment. The incubus feeding instinct is awake now, and he likes to think it’s this that makes him slide out of bed, heading down the hall without a second thought. He’s not sure if the desire to be touched is coming from the way his chest is growing tight, wanting to feed, or from himself; he doesn’t care.

He finds them in Sanghyuk’s bedroom. It’s ornate and extravagant; Hakyeon realises why he picked it. Sanghyuk is sprawled lazily across the four-poster bed as Hongbin sucks him off, and they don’t realise he’s there until he deliberately makes a noise. “Hyung!” Hongbin yelps, jumping about five feet in the air and reaching for the nearest object (a pillow) to cover his nakedness—not like Hakyeon hasn’t seen it before. “What the fuck?”

“Get out,” Sanghyuk admonishes, but it’s lacking any real heart.

Instead of listening to either of them, Hakyeon sidles over to the bed and clambers on it, splaying a hand on Sanghyuk’s belly and looking at him evenly. He still hasn’t bothered to cut off the connection between them, so he can sense Sanghyuk’s confusion and arousal, all mixed up in one. “What are you doing?” Sanghyuk breathes, starting to sit up. That just brings their faces close together, and Hakyeon feels his eyes glow yellow to match. “Hakyeon?”

“I want to feel,” he murmurs, feeling dreamy and far away. He doesn’t _want_ to be far away. He wants to be here, in the moment.

Hongbin huffs—although it sounds more like a hiss—and when Hakyeon turns he can see his eyes are glowing red. He’s _pissed_. Hakyeon doesn’t have to be a mind reader to see that. “I’m right fucking here, hyung, you can’t just barge your way in and expect to have your way with Sanghyuk while I just sit back and watch—”

“I don’t want you to watch,” he says softly, and leans in, cupping the back of Hongbin’s neck. “I want to feel you, too.”

He sees awareness bloom on Hongbin’s face before they kiss, and at first, it’s strange. For all their closeness, they’ve never done this—Hakyeon’s even kissed Wonshik once before, but never Hongbin—and the newness of it all is intoxicating. Hongbin kisses like he’s impatient, but Hakyeon pulls him closer, snakes a hand around his waist, a silent urging to slow down. How does Sanghyuk deal with the fangs? They press on Hakyeon’s tongue, on his lip, and it shouldn’t be but it’s arousing. He pulls back for a moment, to make a jibe, but then Hongbin’s kissing his way down Hakyeon’s neck, his lips hovering above the beat of his pulse, and he understands.

“Patience,” he promises, and pulls away. Beneath him Sanghyuk’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates, and he gulps almost comically when they both turn their attention to him.

Moving in sync, they begin kissing their way down his chest. Hakyeon pauses to pay special attention to a nipple and feels Sanghyuk inhale as Hongbin reaches his cock; they’ve never done this before, but they’re surprisingly seamless. He sucks at Sanghyuk’s other nipple before sliding down the bed and nudging open Sanghyuk’s legs gently, licking and biting his way up his thighs as Hongbin sucks his cock, eking out moans from Sanghyuk that sound so sweet to hear. He still isn’t feeling anything, though. Oh well.

“Christ,” Sanghyuk hisses, as Hakyeon licks up the other side of his cock, flattening his tongue on the underside of the head. “Oh, god—fuck. Hongbin, please, please…”

At first Hakyeon doesn’t understand what he’s asking for. But then Hongbin licks a stripe up the inside of his thigh, his fangs bared, and he gets it. Sanghyuk jerks when Hongbin sinks his fangs in, and Hakyeon hastily closes his mouth over Sanghyuk’s cock, slightly in wonderment; he’s been bitten by vampires before, of course, including Hongbin. But he’s never begged for it like that before. Sanghyuk pulls at his hair as he writhes, and the temptation to feed on him is overwhelming. He holds back, though. It’s probably not great if he has two immortals draining him at the same time.

“I want to see you come,” Hongbin mutters a few moments later, pulling back and licking his lips. Unable to stop himself, Hakyeon leans forward and kisses him. The last time he’d tasted Sanghyuk’s blood was the night he was made, but this time it’s sweet; Hongbin’s hand trails over his ass, and he shivers.

Sanghyuk shudders at the sight of it when they both look at him. “Fuck, I’m close,” he whines, and his fingers clench in the sheets. “Both of you—fuck.”

They do as they’re told, but Hongbin only has to close his hand around Sanghyuk’s cock and stroke him once—twice—before he comes, on himself and on their faces. This time Hakyeon cannot hold back. The temptation is too great. As he sucks gently on the inside of Sanghyuk’s thigh, one finger rubbing gently over his entrance, he feeds—and God he’d missed this. He didn’t realise how much he’d missed it, but it’s _Sanghyuk_ , and when he tastes again he feels a bit of Hongbin’s energy, too. That’s doubly as intoxicating, and when Sanghyuk whines from the overstimulation they both pull away and Hakyeon begins to feel just a little bit more alive.

“Sanghyuk,” he whispers, crawling his way back up Sanghyuk’s body to kiss him so he can taste himself. “Sanghyuk, Sanghyuk, Sanghyuk.” A litany, a prayer, his salvation. “I want you to fuck me.”

That’s not how they normally do this, and Sanghyuk’s eyes snap open in surprise. “Hyung,” he starts, and it sounds choked. “Do you—I mean—yes, _God_ , please.”

“Hongbin,” he says over his shoulder. Hongbin is kneeling there, regarding them both, his eyes red and lust written all over him. “Touch me, please, please.”

God bless Hongbin for being a quick learner—he leaps across the bed and is on Hakyeon before he can even blink, his lips trailing kisses down his neck and shoulder, hands dimpling into the flesh of his waist. They’re kneeling above Sanghyuk as Hongbin slips one hand over his ass teasingly, making his eyes roll back in his head; he doesn’t even have to ask for lube, because Sanghyuk reaches for it and presses it into Hongbin’s hand. There’s the sound of the cap opening, the noise of Hongbin squirting some onto his fingers—and then he’s sliding one finger inside Hakyeon slowly, making him hiss. Sanghyuk’s hand closes on his cock and they set up a jerky rhythm that has Hakyeon relaxing, loosening around Hongbin’s fingers; he tilts his head back to rest it on Hongbin’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

He’s had threesomes, of course—what kind of incubus would he be if he hadn’t? But those were mechanical, just going through the motions, sex without emotional connections. This is something different. They both love him in different ways, and he loves them both equally as differently. That love is tangible, as tangible as the lust in the air, and it shatters some of the numbness. He feels warm. He feels _loved_.

“Now,” he gasps, when Hongbin is sliding three fingers in and out of him and Sanghyuk is hard again. “Sanghyuk, I need you _now_.”

Even now, some little part of him waits for Sanghyuk to screw up his face and start begging—he can’t quite banish that bossy streak, even in the middle of this—before he sinks down on his cock. They moan in sync as Hakyeon splays his hands on Sanghyuk’s chest to steady himself, his eyes fluttering shut. The last person to fuck him like this was—was Jaehwan. And Sanghyuk’s not Jaehwan, he knows he’s not. It’s different. It’s still nice. No, he realises as he starts moving, riding Sanghyuk slowly; it’s not just nice. It’s fucking fantastic.

“Hongbin,” he gasps into Hongbin’s mouth, nearly bucking as he jerks him off. “I—I want you too.”

They freeze in sync, the both of them; it would be funny if Hakyeon wasn’t so overtaken by lust. He wants Hongbin inside of him too and he wants it _now_ and he thinks that if he doesn’t get it he may just explode. “Are you sure?” Hongbin asks, screwing his face up. “I mean… Will we both fit?”

“Oh ye of little faith,” he manages to get out, touching Hongbin’s face reverently. “Just—God, please. I need you. I need you both.”

He does need them both, in more ways than they will ever know. He watches through half-closed eyes as Hongbin squirts more lube on his hand, fucking his slick fist for a few seconds, tipping his head back. He’s beautiful, Hakyeon realises; he hasn’t realised that for years. There was a time, back when Hongbin was mortal—and back when he looked at Hakyeon with stars in his eyes—where he considered sleeping with him. But he’d never gone through with it, mainly because he was sure Wonshik would never forgive him if he did. Looking at him now, though, he’s not sure why he held back; Hongbin’s body is exquisite, and he’s so, so pretty. It beggars belief that he wants Hakyeon, that they _both_ want him. He’s beyond lucky.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Hongbin warns, shuffling closer and placing one hand on Hakyeon’s shoulder to hold him steady.

Below them, Sanghyuk is still, his eyes wide. As Hongbin starts to push in, Hakyeon reaches for his hand and twines their fingers together, gritting his teeth. It stings, but it’s a pleasurable kind of pain; it feels right, to have them both inside of him, and after Hongbin slides in agonisingly slowly they all just—breathe. Hakyeon feels so full and satiated he can’t even speak. He doesn’t know if he knows what words _are_ , anymore. They’re both so warm inside of him, and when Sanghyuk shifts his hips upwards experimentally they all react. Hongbin groans and Hakyeon whines, relaxing into it more and sinking down onto both of their cocks at once. “Are you alright?” Sanghyuk asks, but his free hand, resting on Hakyeon’s thigh, is trembling.

“Never been better,” Hakyeon manages to choke out, closing his eyes as Hongbin thrusts slowly. “I—Jesus.”

“You’re so tight,” Hongbin hisses, and Sanghyuk grunts in agreement.

 _They love me they love me they love me_ , Hakyeon thinks deliriously as he gives into the pleasure entirely, his lucidity slipping slightly in the wake of the both of them. _They love me_ , he thinks as they set up a rough rhythm, their cocks sliding against each other inside of him. _They love me_ , he thinks, as Hongbin snakes one hand around to pull his head to the side. He feels the scrape of fangs, and whimpers—“please,” he moans, leans into Hongbin desperately—not even aware enough to be embarrassed. _He loves me_ , he thinks, as Hongbin bites down.

He expects the sting of pain, but when the wave of pleasure comes after he cries out, his eyes rolling back in his head. By itself he can cope, but not when they’re both fucking into him and not when Sanghyuk’s jerking him off; heat begins to build in his belly and thighs and no, not yet, he doesn’t want to come yet. Blearily, he opens his eyes and looks at Sanghyuk, and in that look is the weight of something unknowable and ancient, base and lewd, exquisite and poignant, and he gasps. He feels. He feels _everything_. Not just the way Hongbin’s lapping at his neck, and not just the way he’s stretching around them both. He feels the way they love him down to his bones, and it’s different to Jaehwan’s love, but that’s fine. He’s loved and that’s enough. He half-expects the sadness to come rushing in, but it doesn’t; it will later, he knows, but not now.

“You look so fucking good,” Hongbin snarls raggedly in his ear, the hand that was tilting his head to the side circling around his neck and giving a gentle squeeze. Hakyeon doesn’t know who he’s talking to, but he doesn’t care. “You both look—”

Sanghyuk twists his fist and he cries out, on the verge of coming. “Please,” he begs, but he doesn’t know what he’s asking for; it’s something they can’t give him, he knows that much. “Please, please, please—I’m going to—”

His orgasm rips through him and leaves him boneless and shaking. They hold him upright, their touches gentle; Hongbin whispers sweet nothings into his neck, and Sanghyuk’s free hand holds his hip, keeping him from pitching forward. He almost loses the threads of himself entirely, seeing stars, their names falling from his lips in a meaningless stream. Even when it’s over, he falls onto the bed next to them, curling up in a ball and shaking as the aftershocks run through him. It doesn’t happen to him very often, where an orgasm is that intense; the last time it happened was Jaehwan, and the time before that centuries ago. He shakes and comes back to himself slowly, and the other two curl up beside him and hold his hands, pressing soft kisses to his shoulders and arms.

“Are you back in the land of the living?” Sanghyuk whispers a few minutes later, sensing Hakyeon’s lucidity come swimming back.

He smiles, and it’s a satiated, fucked-out smile. “Sadly, yes,” he replies, and half-sits up. “Don’t stop on my account.”

His limbs feel like they’re made of jelly as he helps Hongbin roll Sanghyuk over onto his belly, slipping two fingers inside of him and teasing him until he’s begging for more. He watches as Hongbin sinks into Sanghyuk and bites him on the shoulder simultaneously, and they both shudder from the pleasure. Dreamily, he lies down on the bed next to Sanghyuk and trains his eyes on his face, watching his expression change as Hongbin fucks him. What’s so palpable between them is the love and respect they have for each other, and while before it would make Hakyeon extraordinarily sad, right now he’s just content, and he even feels lucky that they’ve included him like this. At one point Sanghyuk opens his eyes and realises Hakyeon’s right there, and he reaches for his hands; they link fingers and stay that way until Hongbin comes with a shout, Sanghyuk following soon after, and then it’s over.

Hakyeon shuffles a little closer so he’s touching both of them. His head is on Sanghyuk’s back, and he has a leg intertwined with Hongbin’s. For the longest time they all just lie there and breathe (or not, in Hongbin’s case) and just exist, warm and safe in their little bubble. For he and Sanghyuk, sex and intimacy go hand in hand, so he’s glad he was able to extend it to Hongbin—even if, in hindsight, he’s still a little shocked he had the gall to do it.

He still feels like he’s in a dream when Wonshik comes in some time later and makes a choked noise in the back of his throat. “What the fuck,” he deadpans, creeping closer. “I thought I heard noises, but… Hakyeon, you _didn’t_.”

“Don’t sound so disapproving,” he chides sleepily, and pouts. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“There really is no one safe from you!” Wonshik’s yelling now, but he can’t really stop himself from laughing as he does, and Hakyeon supposes they must make an absurd sight. “Am I your next target?”

Hakyeon closes his eyes again. “Been there, done that,” he mumbles. “There are some people immune to my wiles, and you’re one of them. Regrettably.”

That sets Wonshik off into a squawking fit of indignation, and he doesn’t stop bitching the whole time he’s bringing them towels and handing them water bottles. It’s not the first time he’s done post-group sex cleanup (he does it well and methodically, like everything else), but this time it’s made all the more funny by the way Hongbin and Sanghyuk keep sniggering. Hakyeon shifts on clothes and whines and pouts until Wonshik gives in and scoops him up in his arms, leaving the lovebirds to it.

“You really are a piece of work,” Wonshik tells him as they traipse back down the hall towards Hakyeon’s bedroom. “I brought you here to try and make you less depressed, and you decide that the solution is to have a threesome? And with Hongbin no less!”

“Hey, he was more than willing. Don’t paint me as the debauched one in all of this,” Hakyeon protests.

Wonshik just rolls his eyes as he deposits Hakyeon on the bed. “You’re lucky I love you.”

He says this quickly, and blushes slightly once the words are out. They aren’t really in the habit of saying those words to each other; Wonshik prefers to show how he feels, with gestures and the occasional friendly touch and gifts. All the same, it’s nice to hear him say it, and Hakyeon reaches out to touch his hand gently. “I love you too.”

His eyes are closing and he only just remembers about Wonshik’s new habit as he’s walking out the door, and so hurriedly calls, “Hey, are you going to tell me what you’re doing on that laptop all the time?”

“Maybe when you stop being such a slut,” Wonshik yells back good-naturedly, and Hakyeon closes his eyes and laughs.

//

As nice it would be, their little bout of debauchery doesn’t fix all of Hakyeon’s issues.

He still has moments where he can’t bring himself to get out of bed, and he still looks wistfully at the sea, wishing he could throw himself into it and float away. But having such a tangible reminder of his friends’ love for him helps, and any time he starts to think he’s worthless and unloved, all he has to do is remind himself of the way they’d looked at him. They certainly aren’t in love with him, nor he with them, but it’s a different kind of love—and it helps. Even Wonshik, who refuses to let any of them live the threesome down (“I’d sort of been keeping a bet on how long it would take you two to fuck,” he admits one night, waggling his finger between Hakyeon and Hongbin like a fleshy metronome. “It’s been going for at least eighty years.”) can sense that he’s coming out of his shell and showers him with affection. It gets to the point that Hakyeon starts to see the end of the tunnel, and thinks that maybe he might be ok, regardless of what’s happened to Jaehwan; he’ll always have his friends, and no matter how many times Taekwoon has tried to split them up he’s always failed.

It’s with this in mind that he sets out for the village one evening. His steps aren’t exactly light, but they’re not heavy, either. He no longer feels like he’s walking through a dream, unable to discern the past and the present; he no longer feels numb. He would much rather welcome the pain and sadness than live with the alternative.

“Ah,” the blacksmith calls as he enters the shop. “I was wondering when you’d be back.”

Hakyeon doesn’t say a word as he walks up to the counter. The dagger he’d requested is lying there on a swatch of black velvet, the blade so shiny that when he picks it up he can see himself in it, reflected in two. The handle is black, and the whole things feels so light in his hand he wonders how much damage it can really do. But then he draws the blade across a fingertip and winces as he draws blood. It’s sharp enough. That’s all he needs.

“And the inscription,” the blacksmith points out, taking the dagger gently from him and turning it over. On the other side, inscribed on the blade in English, is what Hakyeon had requested: _Psalm 58:10_. He smiles when he sees it, but it’s a grim sort of smile.

“It’s perfect,” he says, looking up at the blacksmith. “Just what I needed.”

In what must be a form of cosmic punishment, as he’s walking back to the house, the dagger tucked in his belt, the clouds that had been threatening rain earlier finally burst. His good mood instantly evaporates. When he looks behind him, he sees himself, standing there with Jaehwan with an ice cream cone in hand. His vision swims, and he blinks. _Mad, you’re going mad_ , he thinks to himself, and hunches his shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be free of this. Perhaps this was his destiny all along: to be a wretched creature, undeserving of true love, surrounded by it but unable to touch it. Perhaps he and Jaehwan were a just a blip on each other’s timelines, resigned to nothing but memories; perhaps he will go on living until the end of time, stuck with these memories of someone he can no longer touch, someone he didn’t deserve in the first place.

As he trudges up the driveway he spies something sitting on the doorstep, something pale; a letter, no doubt, or a package. It’s probably Wonshik and his new-found shopping addiction—he still hasn’t told Hakyeon what it is he does on the laptop all day, but what else can it be? And now he’s having stuff shipped here, when they’re due to go home in a few days. Fantastic.

When he gets closer, though, he realises it’s not a package at all. It’s a piece of paper folded in half, weighed down by a rock on one corner. What makes him forget how to breathe, though, what makes him fall to his knees on the gravel, his heart stopping in his chest (it does, he _swears_ it does) is the drawing of a black feather on the paper, the ink running in the rain.

He screams and screams and screams, on the ground in the gravel, sobbing his heart out until he can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except reach for the paper and close his fingers around it.

//

It’s not often that Sanghyuk and Hongbin fight, and what they’re arguing about now is quite possibly the stupidest thing they’ve ever argued over. Game of Thrones is still playing in the background, but Sanghyuk’s fiddling with a thread on his shirt, resisting his urge to roll his eyes at Hongbin. “I’m just saying, you don’t know how annoying it is to lose a chunk of energy in one go like that, just for some pointless shapeshifting.”

“It’s not pointless! It’s an experiment. It’s in the name of science. There’s no way Taekwoon can fight a dragon the size of Rhaegal or Drogon. If you can do it, we could beat him easily.”

Sanghyuk does roll his eyes at that. “Uh, I think _I’m_ the one who’d know that, thank you very much. You weren’t the one who got stabbed. Besides, he has power beyond what you could even—”

He’s cut off by the front door slamming open, and then Hakyeon is scrambling inside frantically. There’s a piece of crumpled paper clutched in his fist, he’s soaking wet, and, weirdest of all, he has an old-fashioned looking dagger tucked in his belt. He doesn’t even have time to say anything, though, because Wonshik bursts into the living room behind Sanghyuk, laptop in hand and looking the most animated Sanghyuk has ever seen him.

“I got a letter from Jaehwan,” Hakyeon shouts at the same time that Wonshik says, “I’ve figured out how we can get Taekwoon.”

Sanghyuk and Hongbin have just enough time to look at each other, their eyes wide, before their world explodes in chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo what a ride
> 
> that is the last of hakyeon being emo—I promise. I can't say it will be the end of the angst (cause, you know, I love pain) but it's definitely the end of everyone moping and mooning around. they had to get it out of their system, because what's coming up is... well, shit's getting serious, is all I'm sayin.
> 
> title from this one is from [ rhiannon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=py3w5fttedA&ab_channel=JohnSeger) by fleetwood mac (s/o to grac), a song that was written for incubus hakyeon imo!
> 
> can't say when the next part will be out—I've given up on making promises at this point—but I'm really excited to get into what's coming.
> 
> p.s: check out [this cool video](https://twitter.com/CHAKNNN/status/916704355058835456) my friend nads made, showing everyone's eye colours in incubus! in the same vein you can see drawings n other things my wonderful friends have done for the series in this thread [here](https://twitter.com/hakyeonni/status/852130344535027712) :~)
> 
> as always, thank you for reading and thank you for your kudos and comments. they mean a great deal to me ♡


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